..a/  ' 


m  ■■# 


IYOES. 


BY 

E.    M.    SEWELL. 


"Thus  speaketh  love:  'Thou  in  the  glance  beloved 
Seek  to  behold  not  earth,  but  Heaven  :  and  thus 
Thy  better  strength  shall  prow  therein  more  strong, 
Thy  star  become  no  light  to  lead  astray.' " 

From  the  German  of  Ruckert,  S.  D. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1,  3,  and  5  BOND  STBEET. 

1881. 


S  3  4 

^-i  <0  A./ 

i  v  o  n  s . 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  library  at  Ivors,  the  country  seat  of  Sir  Henry  Clare, 
was  a  large,  low,  luxuriously  furnished  apartment,  by  no 
means  devoted  exclusively  to  study,  but  offering  amusement 
to  the  morning  idler  and  interest  to  the  lover  of  art,  as  well 
as  occupation  to  the  more  thoughtful  student  of  science  or 
philosophy.  Tables  there  were  in  profusion,  of  every  shape 
and  size :  the  ponderous,  square,  business-table,  with  its 
massive  inkstand,  large  writing  portfolio,  and  profuse  supply 
of  paper,  pens,  and  envelopes ;  the  long  sofa-table,  with  the 
newest  novels  and  reviews,  tempting  the  reader  to  ensconce 
himself  in  the  easy  chair  at  the  corner,  close  to  the  window, 
and  forget  his  own  cares  in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  fiction ; 
the  small  work-table,  which,  like  the  tent  of  the  wandering 
Arab,  was  carried  from  place  to  place,  and  never  known  to 
retain  the  same  position  for  more  than  an  hour  at  a  time ; 
the  print-table,  piled  with  valuable  books,  which  every  one 
wished  to  look  at,  but  which  no  one  did,  because  they  were 
too  weighty  to  be  moved  ;  above  all,  Lady  Augusta  Clare's 
table,  oval-shaped,  heavy,  handsomely  carved,  very  old- 
fashioned,  standing  in  the  deep  recess  opposite  to  the  fire- 
place, its  crimson  covering  nearly  hidden  by  the  collection 
of  papers,  cards,    letters,    sketch-books,   club-books,   foreign 

85C995 


4  IVORS. 

books,  pamphlets,  albums,  and  patterns  of  work,  which  clus- 
tered round  a  magnificent  vase  of  Bohemian  glass  filled  with 
rare  flowers. 

"  A  very  habitable  room,"  was  the  common  expression 
used  in  describing  the  library  at  Ivors.  Though  low,  it  was 
bright  and  sunny.  A  large  modern  window  at  one  end 
fronted  the  south  and  opened  upon  a  flower-garden,  brilliant 
in  summer  with  the  gorgeous  colouring  which  nothing  but 
nature  can  give  ;  Lady  Augusta's  window  also,  though  dark- 
ened by  heavier  mullions,  admitted  the  full  rays  of  the 
morning  sun,  and  gave  lovely  glimpses  of  rich  foliage  and 
pleasant  country  lying  beyond  the  circle  of  the  park.  If 
beguiled  by  the  love  of  reverie,  one  might  have  sat  for  hours 
on  the  cushioned  window-seat,  forming  romances  out  of  the 
vistas  of  deep  glades,  and  the  occasional  openings  amongst 
the  trees  into  the  working:  world  bevond ; — its  cottages,  and 
spires,  and  the  smoke  of  a  distant  town.  But  reverie  was 
not  the  habit  of  mind  most  cherished  by  Lady  Augusta 
Clare.  Now,  as  she  sat  writing,  with  her  face  'turned  from 
the  window,  it  would  have  seemed,  from  the  expression  of 
her  countenance,  its  eager,  restless  look,  that  she  could  have 
no  leisure  even  for  quiet  admiration,  much  less  for  reverie. 
Lady  Augu?ta's  appearance  was  very  striking.  Her  counte- 
nance was  handsome ;  the  forehead  high,  and  open  ;  the  eye 
dark,  quick,  and  glittering ;  the  mouth  perhaps  rather  large, 
but  showing  beautifully  even  teeth :  her  figure  was  tall,  her 
attitude  graceful,  her  dress  perfect  in  its  tasteful  simplicity. 
Why  was  it  that  the  eye  rested  upon  her  with  only  a  doubt- 
ful pleasure1? 

She  finished  her  letter,  pushed  it  aside,  and,  rising 
slowly,  advanced  into  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"  Shall  you  be  ready  for  your  drive,  Admiral "?  It  is 
nearly  three  o'clock." 

The  question  was  addressed  to  an  old,  grey-haired  man, 


IVOK8.  O 

with  a  bluff,  honest,  rather  stern  face,  who  was  leaning  for 
ward  in  a  heavy  arm-chair,  his  hand  resting  upon  the  head 
of  a  little  girl  about  ten  years  of  age,  whilst  she  sat  reading 
a  book  of  fairy  tales  in  an  uneasy  position  on  one  corner  of 
the  stool  which  supported  the  Admiral's  gouty  foot. 

"  Helen,  Mademoiselle  will  be  waiting  for  you  ;  you  had 
better  go  to  her,"  continued  Lady  Augusta ;  and  Helen  rose 
instantly. 

"  Eeached  the  best  part  of  the  story,  eh  % "  asked  the 
Admiral,  gruffly. 

"  Not  the  best,  quite.  If  I  might  only  go  on  !  *  The 
child  held  the  book  still  open. 

"  What  book  is  it  ?  "     Lady  Augusta  took  it  from  her. 

Xonsense,  I  dare  say,"  said  the  Admiral ;  "  little  folks 
read  nothing  else  in  these  days." 

"  It  will  do  no  harm,"  replied  Lady  Augusta ;  "  one 
must  give  the  imagination  some  food,  and  books  are  safer 
than  people." 

"  So  they  say." 

His  manner  was  doubtful  enough  to  be  irritating  to  Lady 
Augusta's  self-confidence:  she  answered  sharply,  ".They 
must  be,  unless  one  can  choose  society,  which  is  impossible 
in  a  country  reighbourhood." 

"  Umph." 

"  That  means  you  don't  agree ;  but,  my  dear  Admiral, 
begging  your  pardon,  you  can't  possibly  know  as  much  as  I 
do  of  the  matter.  Live  with  us  for  six  months,  and  then 
judge  if  you  will." 

"  I  don't  want  to  judge ;  I  always  bow  to  your  Lady- 
ship's better  opinion  :  "  but  the  old  man's  tone  was  too  sar- 
castic for  Lady  Augusta  to  accept  the  compliment. 

She  went  on  eagerly :  "  You  will  soon  sec  that  our 
neighbours  are  quite  comonplace,  with  no  intellect, — mere 
ordinary  wordly  people, — many  of  them  really  not  admissible 


0  IVOKS. 

to  one's  house, — and  so  set  up, — with  such  absurd  pretension  ! 
Sir  Henry  tried  it  when  we  first  came,  but  we  really  found 
that  it  was  no  use ;  and  now," — and  she  glanced  at  Helen, 
— "  with  the  child  old  enough  to  make  her  own  observations, 
it  really  is  a  paramount  duty  to  be  careful." 

•  The  "child's"  quick-speaking,  hazel  eyes,  were  fixed 
upon  Lady  Augusta.  Not  a  word,  look,  or  gesture  was  lost 
upon  her. 

"  Very  likely,"  continued  the  Admiral ;  but  what  "  very 
likely  "  meant  was  not  quite  clear. 

Lady  Augusta  stood  like  an  orator  bent  upon  arguing, 
and  all  the  more  eloquently  because  the  opposition  was  felt 
rather  than  expressed.  "  Of  course,  my  dear  Admiral,  we 
have  all  but  one  object  in  view,  right  principle ;  the  question 
is  how  is  it  to  be  attained  1 " 

"  Aye,  yes  !  "  nodded  the  Admiral, — whilst  Lady  Augusta 
continued  impatiently, — 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  studied  the  question  thoroughly,  read, 
and  thought,  and  talked  with  every  one  likely  fo  give  me 
the  least  help ;  and  I  find  that  all  whose  opinion  I  really 
value  agree  with  myself." 

The  Admiral's  lip  curled, — but  it  might  have  been  only 
from  the  amusement  of  watching  Helen's  intent  look,  as  she 
stood  by  the  table,  her  finger  resting  on  the  page  which  a  few 
moments  before  she  had  been  so  anxious  to  finish. 

"  Evil,  evil, — one  so  dreads  evd !  "  Lady  Augusta's  voice 
sank  into  a  minor  key. 

"  It  is  time  for  Helen  to  go  for  her  walk,  isn't  it  ?  "  asked 
the  Admiral. 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  go  child !  "  but  Helen  did  not  move. 

'•  We  quite  agree,  my  dear  Admiral,  I  know,  in  funda- 
mentals ;  I  only  wish  I  could  make  you  see  with  my  eyes : 
but  men,  begging  your  pardon,  are  so  blind;  they  don't 
perceive  the  things  which  a  woman's  instinct  feels  in  a  mo- 


,  IYOES.  7 

ment.  Sir  Henry  would  persuade  me  if  he  could  to  let 
Helen  mix  more  freely  with  her  cousins  and  their  friends  at 
Wingfield  ;  but  he  does  not  at  all  think  what  difficulties  we 
should  get  into  in  consequence.  Mrs.  Graham  we  all  allow 
is  an  admirable  person,  and  her  acquaintance  are  no  doubt 
very  good  in  their  way,  but  they  are  not  the  stamp  of  people 
for  Helen  to  associate  with.  I  wish  to  bring  her  up  simply, 
with  all  the  pure  freshness  of  nature,  uncontaminated  by 
intercourse  with  the  world." 

A  fresh-coloured,  good-humoured  face  appeared  in  the 
door-way,  and  a  voice,  pitched  in  a  high,  harsh  key,  was 
heard:  "Aliens !  mon  enfant,  viens!  Ah!  que  tu  es  pares- 
seuse." 

"  Mamma,  may  we  go  into  the  village?"  asked  Helen, 
without  even  turning  to  look  at  her  French  governess. 

"  No,  my  love,  no.  Mademoiselle," — the  governess  ad- 
vanced timidly,  as  if  stepping  upon  sacred  ground, — "  I  wish 
you  to  keep  within  the  limits  of  the  park.  If  Miss  Clare 
should  desire  at  any  time  to  go  into  the  village,  I  will  take 
her  there  myself." 

Helen  sprang  forward,  and  put  up  her  face  caressingly  to 
be  kissed.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  the  tiresome  village  people  ; 
only  perhaps  Susan  may  be  coming  here,  and  I  might  meet 
her." 

Lady  Augusta  looked  annoyed,  and  gave  no  kiss.  "You 
are  so  impetuous,  Helen  ;  you  have  no  self-control.  I  shall 
not  take  you  any  where  unless  you  can  command  yourself." 
I  [elen  drew  back  to  the  side  of  her  governess,  and  whispered, 
"  Dear  Mademoiselle,  don't  let  us  be  out  long."  Made- 
moiselle smiled,  and  shook  her  head.  "  Two  hours,  you 
know,  we  must  be." 

Helen  pouted,  and  muttered  that  it  was  going  to  rain; 
she  thought  it  did  rain  ;  she  wished  it  would  rain  every  day  ; 
she  hated  the  park. 


8  IVORS. 


"  You  can  study  botany  there,  child,"  said  the  Admiral. 
He  spoke  to  Helen,  but  he  looked  at  Lady  Augusta. 

"Helen  will  study  to  be  a  good  child,  and  not  give 
trouble,"  replied  Lady  Augusta  quickly;  and  as  she  rang 
the   bell   to  order  the  carriage,  Helen   and  the   governess 


retired. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Lady  Augusta  Clare  was  a  woman  of  systems.  She  had 
been  brought  up  upon  no  plan  herself;  her  mind  therefore 
was  unshackled  by  early  prejudice,  and  at  liberty  to  form  its 
theories  at  will.  She  possessed  a  fair  amount  of  quickness 
of  intellect,  with  a  more  than  average  amount  of  physical 
and  mental  energy.  These  are  not  the  materials  for  happi- 
ness in  the  gay  and  frivolous  world  ;  and,  as  Lady  Augusta 
Mordaunt,  her  life  had  been  a  disappointed  one.  An  only 
daughter,  young,  handsome,  and  rich,  she  was  courted  and 
flattered  by  society,  yet  it  failed  to  satisfy  her ;  and  by  the 
time  she  was  thirty  she  had  formed  systems  for  its  recon- 
struction, discussed  with  metaphysicians,  and  drawn  forth 
in  long  and  wordy  manuscript  essays,  which,  if  they  did  not 
tend  to  convert  her  fi  lends  to  her  opinions,  at  least  con- 
vinced herself  that  she  was  too  superior  to  run  any  risk  of 
being  converted  by  them.  In  a  fit  of  disgust,  the  mania  of 
usefulness  attacked  her.  She  became  the  patroness  of  innu- 
merable benevolent  institutions ;  but  all  were  found  to  be 
based  upon  some  fundamental  error.  Lady  Augusta  set  her- 
self to  reform  them,  and  found  no  one  willing  to  co-operate 
*  it li  her.  If  the  world  would  not  be  charitable  in  her  way, 
she  could  not  be  charitable  in  the  world's  way;  and  she  fled 


,  IVOR?.  V 

to  science  as  a  refuge.  But  here  there  was  an  embarras  tie 
richesses, — not  one  system,  but  many.  Lady  Augusta's  mind 
was  in  perpetual  agitation ;  one  theory  after  another  was 
adopted,  idolised,  proved,  and  found  defective,  and  thrown 
aside.  The  old  weariness  was  returning,  when,  happiness 
unlooked  for !  at  the  age  of  forty  a  new  interest  presented 
itself, — the  grand  interest — the  grand  problem  of  the  nine- 
teenth century, — education,  and  in  a  form  most  attractive  to 
a  person  who  had  for  years  been  seeking  in  vain  for  an  ob- 
ject on  which  to  expend  all  the  superabundant  energy  of  her 
character. 

Sir  Henry  Clare,  a  widower,  offered  himslf,  his  income 
of  ten  thousand  a  year,  his  seat  in  the  country,  his  house  in 
town,  all  for  Lady  Augusta's  acceptance,  with  only  the 
drawback  of  the  care  of  two  children,  a  boy  of  twelve,  gen- 
erally at  school,  and  so  not  likely  to  be  in  the  way,  and  a 
little  girl  of  seven,  who  was,  of  course,  to  be  educated  at 
home.  Sir  Henry  himself  might  have  been  refused,  though 
he  was  an  honest-hearted,  upright,  English  gentleman. 
Lady  Augusta  had  declined  many  more  advantageous  offers, 
for  her  theories  in  early  life  had  been  anti-matrimonial,  and 
Sir  Henry  was  not  likely  to  prove  a  very  sympathetic  com- 
panion ;  but  the  little  girl — just  the  age  for  education,  the 
mind  just  opening,  the  feelings  fresh,  the  taste  untutored — 
it  was  an  opportunity  for  usefulness  which  might  never  again 
occur ;  it  seemed  actually  wrong  to  refuse ;  the  poor  child 
might  fall  into  such  bad  hands ;  having  no  mother,  her  situ- 
ation would  be  so  forlorn.  Lady  Augusta,  without  much 
difficulty,  thought  herself  into  the  belief  that  the  fact  of 
the  offer  being  made  was  the  suggestion  of  a  paramount 
duty,  and,  after  due  delay,  and  consideration  of  responsibili- 
ties, and  self-pitying  sighs,  consented  to  become  the  mistress 
of  Ivors  Park  and  tin'  stepmother  of  little  Helen.     That  she 


10  IVORS. 

was  also  the  wife  of  Sir  Henry  Clare  was  rather  the  accident 
of  such  circumstances  than  the  cause. 

Lady  Augusta  Mordaunt  had  been  a  cold,  hard,  harsh- 
mannered,  yet  not  altogether  worldly  woman.  Lady  Au- 
gusta Clare  was  as  cold,  but  more  gentle, — less  worldly  in 
appearance,  more  worldly  in  reality.  She  had  found  her 
object  in  life  and  so  far  she  was  satisfied  ;  but  her  marriage 
had  begun  in  sell-deceit,  and  in  self-deceit  it  continued. 
She  had  professed  to  marry  Sir  Henry  Clare  because  she 
could  love,  honour,  and  obey  him.  She  married  him  in  fact 
because  she  wanted  occupation,  and  independence,  and  the 
excitement  of  a  new  mode  of  life.  That  one  great  falsehood 
tainted  her  whole  character.  Whatever  she  misdit  have  been 
before,  she  was  at  least  sincere — her  mania  had  been  for  the 
time  real ;  now  she  was  acting  a  part — good,  indeed,  in  the 
ey.s  of  the  world,  often  involving  self-sacrifice,  and  always 
dei i lauding  thought  and  exertion,  but  not  the  less  surely 
tending  to  the  degradation  of  the  moral  tone. 

Lady  Augusta  had  entered  upon  her  married  life  with 
the  determination  to  be  an  exemplary  stepmother,  yet  far 
'ess  because  she  felt  the  duties  of  her  position  than  because 
it  would  be  an  honour  to  triumph  over  its  difficulties.  It 
was  an  opportunity  for  testing  her  theories,  and  she  rejoiced 
in  it,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  not  without  cause.  At  the 
time  of  her  marriage,  little  Helen  was  a  wild,  wilful,  un- 
tamed child  of  the  woods,  utterly  untaught  in  all  the  pro- 
prieties of  life,  very  ignorant  of  what  most  children  of  her 
age  know  perfectly,  yet  having  acquired  information  upon 
other  subjects  which  were  likely  to  be  worse  than  useless. 
In  three  years'  time  Lady  Augusta  had  subdued  her  into 
good  manners  and  docility,  brought  out  her  natural  talents, 
cultivated  them  to  the  admiration  and  surprise  of  her 
friends,  taught  her  to  be  a  pleasant  companion  to  her  father, 
in   fact  made   her,  as  she  was  often    reminded  by  flattering 


IYOKS.  1  1 

acquaintances,  "  quite  another  creature."  Surely  here  was 
cause  for  triumph,  and  Lady  Augusta  did  triumph,  "with  that 
quiet  self-applause  which  so  comfortahly  expands  itself  under 
the  veil  of  humility.  "  Certainly,  dear  little  Helen  was 
much  altered,"  she  would  often  say  ;  "  her  efforts  had  hecn 
wonderfully  hlessed,  hut  there  was  a  great  deal  still  to  be 
done,  she  felt  herself  sadly  unequal  to  the  arduous  task : " 
and  then  dear  little  Helen  was  called  up,  and  caressed  and 
sighed  over,  and  sent  hack  again  to  her  hook,  whilst  Lady 
Augusta  discussed  in  her  hearing  the  system  upon  which 
she  had  determined  to  educate  her. 

Simplicity,  ignorance  of  evil,  a  mind  which  should  suffice 
for  its  own  amusement  and  occupation,  refinement  of  taste, 
religious  principle — all  these  were  in  the  category  of  Lady 
Augusta  Clare's  educational  intentions.  And  as  her  aim  for 
herself  was  high,  so  was  she  eloquent  in  condemnation  of  the 
systems  pursued  by  her  friends,  and  lynx-eyed  in  the  discovery 
of  their  failures.  Searely  one  child  of  her  acquaintance  hut 
had  in  its  turn  been  mourned  over,  as  "  a  poor  little  thing, 
of  whom  so  much  miirht  have  been  made  but  for  the  sad  edu- 
cation!"  Of  course  when  people  find  fault  with  their 
neighbours  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  they  can  do,  and  are 
doing,  better  themselves.  The  world  is  always  for  a  time 
led  by  assumption  ;  and  Lady  Augusta,  by  dint  of  constant 
lamentations  over  the  short  comings  of  her  friends  and  judi- 
cious hints  of  Helen's  rapid  improvement,  had  obtained  a 
wonderful  reputation  for  her  own  plan.  In  what  it  consisted 
no  one  indeed  exactly  knew,  for  Helen  was  rarely  seen  be- 
yond the  limits  of  the  park  ;  and  all  communication  between 
the  French  governess  and  any  families  in  the  neighbourhood 
was  strictly  forbidden.  Lady  Augusta's  great  fear  was  said 
to  be  lest  her  little  girl  should  form  undesirable  acquaint- 
ances;  a  vague  fear,  commented  upon  in  the  adjoining  town 
of  Wingfiehl,  and  declared  to  be  only  another  form  of  pride. 


12  IVORS. 

But  the  friends  admitted  to  intimacy  at  Ivors  agreed  with 
Lady  Augusta  that  such  exclusiveness  was  only  necessary. 
With  her  system,  her  dread  of  evil,  her  determination  to 
bring  Helen  up  simply,  without  pretension  or  absurdity,  it 
would  not  be  possible  to  throw  her  amongst  ordinary  people  ; 
t bey  would  infallibly  ruin  her:  and  the  little  coterie  from 
tlie  gay  London  world  gathered  around  their  oracle,  listening 
and  applauding,  whilst,  from  the  height  of  her  supreme  self- 
complacency,  Lady  Augusta  discoursed  upon  the  errors  of  the 
common  herd,  and  thanked  God  that  Helei  would  never  be 
like  them. 

In  one  respect  Lady  Augusta  was  right.  Helen  certainly 
never  could  be  a  common  person.  Her  growth  was  as  likely 
to  be  rapid  in  evil  as  in  good ;  but  grow  she  must,  with  the 
hot-bed  luxuriance  of  a  tropical  plant. 

Her  mother  had  been  the  grand-daughter  of  a  Spanish 
nobleman ;  and  the  proud,  excitable,  Spanish  spirit  was  as 
clearly  to  be  traced  in  Helen's  disposition  as  in  the  flash  of 
her  dark  eyes  and  the  outline  of  her  otherwise  fair  English 
face.  Probably  no  temper  but  one  so  determined  as  that  of 
Lady  Augusta  would  have  been  able  to  cope  with  it,  and  the 
struggle  had  at  first  been  sore  even  for  her.  Fierce  in  her 
wilfulness,  Helen  had  tried  every  childish  means  of  intimi- 
dation whenever  her  will  was  thwarted ;  and  in  the  nursery 
and  with  her  governess  she  was  constantly  victorious ;  but 
with  her  stepmother  it  was  but  beating  her  head  against  the 
impassive  rock.  Lady  Augusta  seldom  answered  her  in  her 
tits  of  fury,  never  attempted  to  reprove,  still  less  to  coax  or 
pet ;  but  her  cold  eye  had  the  effect  of  a  glance  of  a  keeper 
upon  a  madman.  Helen  was  quelled  for  the  moment,  and 
dreaded  to  encounter  it  again,  and  soon  learnt  in  Lady  Au- 
gusta's presence  to  subdue  even  the  most  stormy  burst  of 
passion. 

Beyond   this  there   was  only  one  thing  which  Lady  An- 


,  IVORS.  13 

gusta  could  discover  which  required  correction.  Learning- 
was  no  difficulty ;  accomplishments  seemed  an  instinct 
beauty  and  grace  were  Helen's  inheritance  by  birth :  but 
it  was  difficult  at  first  to  keep  her  from  rebelling  against  the 
restraints  imposed  upon  her  as  regarded  society.  Lady  Au- 
gusta, however,  set  to  work  vigorously.  Nurse,  governess,  ser- 
vants, all  were  changed.  Playfellows  were  forbidden  ;  walks 
were  limited  to  the  precincts  of  the  park  [  the  contaminating 
influence  of  the  world  was  the  subject  constantly  discussed 
in  Helen's  presence ;  and  criticisms  were  passed  upon  the 
manners  and  habits  of  various  individuals,  which  it  was  sup- 
posed would  tend  to  form  Helen's  taste  and  counteract  the 
mischief  of  early  associations  and  natural  temperament 
For  Helen  was  not  by  nature  supercilious.  Proud,  indeed 
she  was  ;  but  it  was  pride  which  regarded  herself  rather  thai 
others,  the  pride  which  could  not  brook  reproof,  which  would 
not  own  itself  in  the  wrong.  Apart  from  this  feeling  she 
was  generous,  compassionate,  unselfish,  enthusiastic  in  the 
depth  and  warmth  of  her  feelings.  If  her  affections  were 
•lied,  she  could  be  made  gentle  and  docile  in  her  most 
wi'ful  moods.  And  in  her  infancy  she  had  loved  every  one. 
Ib-r  father,  her  nurse,  her  governess,  the  housekeeper,  the 
poor  who  begged  for  alms,  the  children  who  played  in  the 
village,  whatever  came  within  the  reach  of  her  interest,  even 
though  but  for  a  passing  moment,  called  forth  some  kindly 
feeling.  No  marvel  that  she  had  been  petted  and  fondled, 
and  when  left,  at  three  years  of  age,  to  the  care  of  servants, 
often  taken  into  strange  company  and  taught  habits  unsuited 
to  her  age  and  position  in  life.  The  little  rosy  mouth  which 
formed  itself  so  naturally  into  a  kiss,  the  bright  eyes,  with 
their  loving,  quick,  sparkling  glance,  which  responded  so 
gladly  to  the  least  notice,  the  broken  words  which  tried  to 
express  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  as  the  tiny  fingers  were 
grasped  by  ■-"iiii>    rough    hand,  wen-    as    winning  to    the  pool 


li  IVORS. 

as  to  the  rich,  to  the  uneducated  as  to  the  cultivated.  Until 
her  father's  second  marriage  Helen  Clare  had  heen  the  pet 
of  the  neighbourhood,  and  had  suffered  as  pets  must  suffer. 

Three  years  had  been  passed  under  constant  and  strict  sur- 
veillance, and  the  mischief  was  supposed  to  be  counteracted. 
Helen's  eyes  were  opened  to  the  necessity  of  exclusiveness, 
and  she  could  talk  now  as  fluently  in  the  school-room  as 
Lady  Augusta  in  +he  drawing-room,  of  the  demerits  of 
"  everybody," — the  expression  including  tLe  country  visitors 
whom  she  occasionally  saw  in  the  drawing-room,  or  in  walks 
or  drives.  Once  admitted  to  stay  at  Ivors,  and  the  fortunate 
individual,  however  dull  or  disagreeable,  became  "  somebody," 
to  be  defended  and  upheld  as  forming  part  of  the  Clare 
world. 

Lady  Augusta  was  satisfied.  The  childish  warmth  of 
feeling  which  had  once  expended  itself  upon  the  outer  world 
was  gradually  becoming  concentrated  within  the  range  of  the 
park  palings  ;  and  she  flattered  herself  that  she  had  refined 
her  little  girl's  taste  and  taught  her  to  be  happy  at  home, 
because  she  had  led  her  to  look  with  contempt  upon  every- 
thing abroad. 

All  this  may  seem  very  worldly,  yet  Lady  Augusta 
Clare's  reputation  was  decidedly  religious.  Even  in  her 
gayer  younger  days  she  had  never  been  a  thoughtless  person. 
When  she  followed  science  it  wa's  always  with  a  professed 
leaning  towards  its  highes  objects  ;  and  latterly  she  had 
taken  a  more  prominent  part  in  religious  matters,  studied 
controversial  books,  entered  warmly  into  the  questions  of  the 
day,  filled  her  book-shelves  with  manuals  of  devotion,  orna- 
mented her  walls  with  prints  from  Kaphael  and  Fra  An- 
gelico.  And  Helen  was  of  course  taught  upon  Avhat  were 
said  to  be  the  strictest  and  purest  principles.  Her  little  bed- 
room was  the  counterpart  of  Lady  Augusta's.  It  had 
pictures,    and  books    most   admirably   arranged,  and  hymns 


,  IVORS.  15 

framed  and  glazed,  hanging  against  the  wall,  and  a  splen- 
didly bound  Bible  always  lying  upon  the  dressing-table  by 
the  side  of  little  Bohemian  glass  vases,  and  a  gorgeous, 
dressing-case,  made  up  of  rose- wood,  and  silver,  and  velvet. 
Helen  delighted  in  her  little  room,  and  was  never  happy  till 
she  had  shown  her  pictures  to  every  new  visitor  ;  and  had  an 
opinion  always  ready  as  to  her  favourite  books,  and  was 
willing  to  repeat  her  hymns  to  any  one  who  would  listen  to 
and  praise  her.  As  Lady  Augusta  observed,  "  it  was  quite 
delightful  to  see  such  marked  religious  tastes  so  early  de- 
veloped ! " 

And  what  part  was  taken  by  Sir  Henry  Clare  in  all  these 
educational  schemes  !  Immersed  in  politics,  the  conservative 
member  for  the  county  for  the  last  ten  years,  he  thought  very 
little  about  them.  He  had  married,  as  he  believed,  for  his 
children's  advantage  ;  he  had  given  them  a  stepmother,  said 
by  all  the  world  to  be  perfectly  qualified  to  guide  them  ;  and 
he  thought  that  he  had  done  his  duty.  His  boy  at  Eton,  his 
little  girl  trained  by  such  a  superior  person  as  Lady  Augusta, 
there  seemed  nothing  to  desire,  at  least  for  the  present ;  and 
Six  Henry  looked  forward  to  seeing  his  son  a  sensible  man, 
and  his  daughter  a  good  and  accomplished  woman,  as  con- 
fidently as  the  iron-founder  who  casts  his  metal  into  the 
furnace  expects  to  receive  it  again  impressed  with  the  stamp 
prepared  for  it. 

Sir  Henry  Clare's  expectations  were  reasonable.  The 
minds  of  our  children  are  formed  according  to  the  mould 
which  we  ourselves  prepare  for  them.  But  the  iron-founder 
knows  his  object,  and  chooses  his  mould  with  a  careful  view 
to  its  attainment:  we,  in  our  ignorance,  think  that  we  are 
working  with  the  right  mould,  because  we  talk,  and  reprove, 
and  lecture ;  and  at  the  very  moment  we  are  casting  the 
wrong  one,  by  the  habits  of  our  daily  life,  and  the  unseen 
motives  of  our  actions;. 


10  IVORS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Shall  you  object  to  drive  into  Wingfield,  my  dear  Ad- 
miral? "  asked  Lady  Augusta,  when,  afttr  a  careful  ad- 
justment of  pillows,  the  gouty  foot  had  been  placed  in  a 
comfortable  position,  in  the  easy,  open  carriage,  and  the 
Admiral's  man  had  taken  his  seat  upon  the  box. 

Admiral  Clare  was  Sir  Henry's  uncle,  a  man  of  seventy, 
rich,  benevolent,  eccentric  ;  likely  to  be  a  very  useful  relation 
— so  Lady  Augusta  thought, — if  he  were  properly  humoured. 
He  had  just  returned  from  a  long  residence  abroad,  and  had 
been  only  a  week  at  Ivors.  His  peculiarities,  therefore,  were 
as  yet  for  the  most  part  in  the  "  unknown  land,"  which  forms 
so  large  a  portion  of  our  moral  territory  even  in  our  own 
eyes ;  and  Lady  Augusta  was  constantly  setting  forth  on 
little  voyages  of  discovery  in  the  hope  of  finding  them,  and 
as  constantly  missing  when  she  expected  to  meet  them,  and 
stumbling  upon  when  she  was  not  prepared  for  them.  She 
had  tried  for  three  days  to  make  out  to  her  own  satisfaction 
whether  the  Admiral  had  any  fancy  about  his  daily  drive, 
whether  he  preferred  one  direction  to  another, — whether  he 
liked  the  town  and  a  little  shopping,  or  the  turnpike  road,  or 
the  smooth  turf  of  the  downs.  He  was  provokingly  willing  to 
go  wherever  she  wished, — he  would  not  give  her  the  opportu- 
nity of  nattering  him  ;  and  Lady  Augusta,  having  received  the 
usual  short  answer  to  her  question,  "  wherever  you  will,  it  is  all 
the  same  to  me,"  gave  her  direction  to  the  footman,  and  threw 
herself  back  in  the  carriage,  looking  as  cross  as  she  ever 
allowed  herself  to  look.  Temper  was  a  failing  especially 
guarded  against, — it  was  so  lowering. 

After  a  few  seconds  she  recovered  herself.     ,;  I   was  half 


IVOJBS.  17 

afraid  you  would  find  the  dust  unpleasant,  Admiral ;  but  you 
are  very  enduring." 

••  Xot  much  dust  to-day,  except  in  your  Ladyship's  eyes. 
There  was  rain  enough  for  a  deluge  last  night." 

o  o  o 

"  Ah  !  I  forgot ;  but  we  have  had  such  a  continuance  of 
dry  weather.  It  will  take  a  long  time  really  to  soften  the 
ground.  And  don't  you  find  the  heat  extremely  oppres- 
sive ?  " 

"Nothing  to  Italy.  Did  you  say  you  were  going  to  drive 
to  Wingfield  1  " 

"  I  thought  of  it,  if  you  have  no  other  visit ;  but  any 
direction  will  be  the  same  to  me ;  we  can  stop  directly.'' 
Lady  Augusta  stretched  out  her  hand  to  pull  the  check- 
string  ;  the  Admiral  prevented  her. 

"  My  dear  lady,  one  road  is  just  as  good  as  another  to  a 
gouty  old  fellow  like  me.  If  you  are  going  to  Wingfield,  I 
propose  to  leave  my  card  on  Mrs.  Charles  Graham,  as  she 
came  to  see  me  the  day  before  yesterday." 

Cloud  the  second, — a  thunder  cloud  on  Lady  Augusta's 
brow ;  but  she  turned  away  her  face  that  it  might  not  be 
seen,  and  answered :  "  Mrs.  Graham  now ;  the  poor  elder 
brother  died  last  year." 

•  So  she  told  me  ;  then  she  has  something  for  her  children 
at  last." 

"  A  little, — three  or  l'uur  hundred  a  year  only, — a  mere 
pittance.  I  suspect  she  settled  here,  thinking  that  Sk  Henrv 
would  do  something  for  her." 

"Of  course;  she  is  his  sister-in-law." 

"  Yes  !  of  course  ;  but  still — Sir  Henry  has  great  claims 
upon  him.     He  can't  be  expected  to  provide  for  them  all." 

"  Does  the  good  woman  expect  that  he  will  ?  " 

Lady  Augusta  laughed  graciously,  and  turned  her  head 
again  to  the  Admiral.  "You  have  used  just  the  right  term 
for  her,  my  dear  sir;  she  is  emphatically  a  good  woman." 


18  IVORS. 

"  And  .she  can't  be  any  tiling  better ;  but  is  she  fool 
enough  to  depend  on  any  one  but  herself? " 

"  I  can't  exactly  say :  Frances  Graham  was  always  im- 
mensely reserved  ;  and  since  my  marriage  there  has  seemed, 
strange  to  say,  a  barrier  between  us  ;  but  she  is  very  good, 
extremely  good  ;  I  don't  know  a  better  person,  and  so  like 
her  dear  sister !  my  little  Helen's  mother ; " — and  Lady 
Augusta  adopted  the  mournful  key,  and  breathed  out  the  last 
words  as  a  whisper  to  the  winds. 

"  Does  Helen  see  much  of  her  aunt  ? "  inquired  the 
Admiral. 

"  Well !  not  much, — not  so  much  as  I  should  wish.  The 
fact  is,  my  dear  Admiral,  between  ourselves," — the  Admiral 
drew  back  as  Lady  Augusta's  face  approximated  to  his, — 
"  between  ourselves,  Helen  is  a  very  serious  charge,  and  I  am 
obliged  to  be  most  careful.  I  could  not  speak  out  openly  to- 
day with  the  child  in  the  room," — the  Admiral  bit  his  lip 
and  leaned  forward  upon  his  stick, — "  but  you  would  be  quite 
surprised  to  hear  all  that  goes  on  in  this  neighbourhood." 

"  Most  likely,"  muttered  the  Admiral,  "  it's  the  case  in 
most  neighbourhoods." 

"  Yes,  as  you  say,  it  is  so  in  most  neighbourhoods  ;  I  sup- 
pose this  is  not  worse  than  others ;  but  in  Helen's  peculiar 
position,  I  feel  that  I  have  such  a  sacred  charge.  Perhaps, 
if  she  were  my  own  child,  I  might  feel  the  responsibility  less  : 
and  Mrs.  Graham  and  I  do  not,  I  must  candidly  own,  quite 
meet  in  our  views  of  education.  She  has  three  girls,  very 
amiable ;  the  eldest  half  a  year  older  than  Helen.  They 
see  each  other  sometimes,  the  relationship  makes  it  a  matter 
of  necessity  ;  but  I  can't  help  being  anxious  about  it.  Mrs. 
(iraham  allows  them  a  good  deal  more  freedom  than  I  can 
think  right." 

"  She  was  kept  strictly  enough  herself,"  observed  the 
Admiral. 


IVORS.  19 

"  Was  she  ?  "  the  tone  was  one  of  supreme  indifference. 
I  know  nothing  about  her  early  days.  We  never  became 
acquainted  till  I  met  her  at  Ivors  some  sis  years  ago.  Cer- 
tainly she  brings  up  her  children  on  the  contrary  system." 

"  A  common  case,"  said  the  Admiral. 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  probably  you  are  right ;  but  you  can 
understand,  that  style  of  education  does  not  suit  my  ideas 
for  Helen.  It  may  be  all  very  well  for  children  like  the 
Grahams,  who  can  never  expect  to  mix  in  superior  society  ; 
but  it  would  be  quite  unfitting  for  Helen  in  her  position." 

"  What  is  her  position  ?  "  asked  the  Admiral,  bluntly. 

Lady  Augusta  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  and  paused. 

The  question  was  repeated. 

"  Her  position  ?  my  dear  sir,  you  are  laughing  at  me.  I 
won't  attempt  to  explain  it ;  but  you  can't  possibly  put  her 
on  a  par  with  the  Grahams." 

"  Cousins,"  said  the  Admiral. 

"  Oh,  yes,  cousins.     But  relationship  is  not  every  thing." 

"  Nor  any  thing,  if  relations  are  poor." 

Lady  Augusta  saw  in  an  instant  that  she  was  moving  in 
a  wrong  direction,  and  changed  her  course. 

"My  dear  Admiral,  you  quite  mistake  me,  if  you  think 
that  the  question  of  poverty  has  any  thing  to  do  with  the 
matter.  I  should  always  feel,  and  so  would  Sir  Henry,  that 
poor,  dear  Mrs.  Graham  was  to  be  treated  with  every  con- 
sideration ;  but  if  you  once  knew  the  tone  of  the  house,  you 
would  feel  directly  that  great  intimacy  would  not  do.  The 
'iniliam  children  are  by  no  means  particular  in  their  acquaint- 
ance. I  could  not  at  all  answer  for  the  friendships  Helen 
might  form,  if  she  were  to  go  there.  Susan  Graham,  I 
know,  is  allowed  to  go  about  a  good  deal  in  Wingfield, 
amongst  people  whom,  of  course,  we  could  never  visit.  I 
assure  you  it  would  not  do." 


20  IVORS. 

"  People  you  can't  visit,"  muttered  the  Admiral.  "  Very 
wrong  that !  I  shall  talk  to  Frances  Graham  ahout  it." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  sir,  pray — I  entreat  you — not  for  the 
world.  She  would  never  forgive  me."  Lady  Augusta  seized 
the  Admiral's  hand  in  her  alarm. 

He  drew  it  away.  "  Your  ladyship  will  excuse  me. 
Frances  Graham  was  my  ward  ;  if  she  is  bringing  up  her 
children  wrongly,  it  is  my  duty  to  warn  her.  People  you 
could  never  visit !  "  he  repeated  again  in  an  under  tone. 

"  You  are  so  exact,  Admiral,"  and  Lady  Augusta  laughed 
rather  nervously.  There  is  no  physical  or  moral  impossibil- 
ity. They  may  be  very  good  pieople,  but  unrefined,  homely, 
not  at  all  what  Helen  is  accustomed  to.  And  she  is  sweetly 
simple  and  natural ;  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  her  spoilt." 

"  Neither  would  I,"  said  the  Admiral ;  and  he  sank  back 
in  the  carriage,  laid  his  stick  across  his  knees,  and  did  not 
speak  again. 

They  were  just  entering  Wingfield.  It  was  market-day, 
and  there  was  an  unusual  bustle  in  the  High  Street ;  but 
Lady  Augusta  looked  straight  before  her,  and  only  once 
bent  forward  to  bow  to  Mr.  Conyers,  the  surgeon,  whom  she 
could  not  with  courtesy  avoid.  In  a  few  minutes  they  had 
reached  the  further  end  of  the  town,  and  the  carriage  drew 
up  before  an  iron  gate,  which  opened  upon  a  gravel  sweep,  in 
front  of  Mrs.  Graham's  house,  Wingfield  Court,  built  of  red 
brick,  with  stone  facings,  and  standing  in  a  garden  of 
moderate  extent.  The  great  house  it  was  of  the  country 
town,  though,  in  Lady  Augusta's  eyes,  scarcely  more  than  a 
cottage. 

"  A  comfortable  place  enough,"  said  the  Admiral. 

"  Very  fair."  Lady  Augusta  felt  so  extremely  cross,  it 
was  next  to  impossible  not  to  show  it. 

••  And  kept  in  capital  order,"  said  the  Admiral,  casting 
around  his  quick  quarter-deck  glance. 


v  IVOKS.  21 

"  Tolerable." 

"  A  splendid  fuchsia,  that !  I  don't  think  you  have  any 
at  Ivors  to  equal  it." 

Lady  Augusta  saw  that  he  vras  bent  upon  teasing  her, 
and  it  roused  her  into  seeming  good-humour.  She  -would 
not  be  thwarted  in  that  way  at  least,  and  to  the  Admiral's 
surprise,  she  entered  fully  into  the  merits  of  the  fuchsia,  and 
was  at  the  climax  of  exuberant  praise,  when  the  tidy  parlour- 
maid opened  the  front  door  of  Wingfield  Court,  and  gave  the 
information, — welcome  certainly  to  Lady  Augusta. — that 
Mrs.  Graham  was  not  at  home. 

The  Admiral  drew  out  his  card, — a  small  card  inscribed 
with  large  Roman  letters, — and  wrote  something  on  the  back. 

"  Is  your  mistress  out  generally  at  this  hour  1  "  he  asked. 

'■  Most  days,  sir  ;  she  goes  out  from  three  to  four  now 
it's  hot,  and  walks  with  the  children  afterwards." 

"  Too  much  exercise  for  this  weather,"  said  the  Admiral. 
"  Tell  her  I  said  so." 

"  It's  to  the  school,  I  believe  my  mistress  is  gone,  sir," 
said  the  maid,  who  looked  inclined  to  be  communicative. 

"  Oh  !  to  the  school.  Too  hot  for  that  too  !  tell  her  she 
will  catch  a  fever." 

The  maid  smiled,  and  Lady  Augusta  asked  patronisingly, 
yet  rather  sarcastically,  if  Miss  Susan  was  at  the  school  too. 

"  Miss  Susan  went  across  the  paddock  just  now,  to  Mrs. 
Lowrie's,  I  believe,  my  lady." 

"  And  the  little  ones — where  are  they  1  " 

"  Nurse  was  going  to  take  them  to  see  old  Miss  Harvey, 
I  believe,  my  lady.  Master  ( 'harlie  is  fretful,  cutting  a  tooth, 
and  she  thought  it  would  please  him  to  talk  to  the  parrot." 

"Oh!  drive  on."  Lady  Augusta  appealed  eagerly  to 
the  Admiral.  "Just  what  I  said,  my  dear  Admiral;  you 
will  understand  perfectly  now.  I  could  not  possibly  let 
Helen  be  mixed  up  with  such  people.     That  old  Miss  liar- 


22  ivoks. 

vey,  I  fancy,  is  a  rich  farmer's  daughter,  and  the  nurse  evi- 
dently takes  the  children  there  without  scruple.  A  most 
unaccountable  system  !  " 

The  gravel  sweep  was  rather  rough,  and  the  wheels  of 
the  carriage  made  a  considerable  noise.  Perhaps  the  Admi- 
ral did  not  hear.  He  was  bending  forward,  but  suddenly 
seized  the  check-string.     "  I  beg  pardon,   but   may  I    be 

allowed "  and  before  Lady  Augusta   could   speak,  the 

carriage  was  stopped. 

"  Tbat's  a  Graham,  I  am  sure."  He  beckoned  to  a  little 
girl  about  Helen's  height  and  size,  who  was  just  entering 
the  sweep. 

"  Such  a  little  figure  !  "  muttered  Lady  Augusta  ;  but 
the  exclamation  was  too  low  for  the  Admiral  to  hear. 

The  child  certainly  was  not  quite  prepared  for  fashionable 
society.  Her  cotton  dress  was  tumbled,  and  betokened  the 
last  days  of  the  week  ;  and  the  close  linen  bonnet  made  to 
screen  her  from  the  sun  nearly  hid  her  features.  She  stood 
timidly  at  a  distance,  even  after  the  Admiral's  sign  was 
given  ;  and  only  ventured  to  draw  near  when  Lady  Augusta 
condescendingly  put  out  her  hand,  and  said,  "  How  d'ye  do, 
Susan  ?  " 

A  slight  quaintness,  at  least  for  the  manner  of  the  present 
day,  might  have  been  remarked  in  the  quiet  "  Very  well, 
thank  you,  ma'am,"  which  came  in  reply  ;  and  Susan  Gra- 
ham's cheeks  wrere  crimson  with  shyness  and  excitement,  as 
she  added,  "  If  you  please,  how  is  Helen  t  " 

"  Helen  is  very  well,  my  dear.  She  would  have  sent  her 
love  if  she  had  known  I  was  coming  here." 

A  pause.  The  coachman  looked  round  to  know  if  he 
should  drive  on.  Lady  Augusta  was  upon  the  point  of  giving 
the  order,  but  she  did  not  venture. 

The  Admiral's  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  gentle  blushing 
little  face,  only  partially  seen   at  the   extremity  of  the   deep 


,  ivoes.  23 

cottage  bonnet.  Lady  Augusta  could  not  read  his  counte- 
nance ;  but  she  bad  sufficient  tact  not  to  interrupt  bis  train 
of  thought,  wbatever  it  might  be. 

"  Poor  old  man  !  His  mind  was  recalling  a  common 
tale, — a  memory  of  early  love, — so  long  gone  by  that  its 
truth  and  beauty  were  faded  to  all  eyes  except  his  own.  But 
it  was  quite  fresh  to  him  ;  and  little  Susan  Graham  was  the 
picture  of  the  child  wbom,  sixty  years  before,  he  had  known 
and  loved  with  a  boyish  fancy, — whom  it  had  been  the  hope 
of  his  manhood  that  he  should  one  day  call  his  wife,  and  who, 
.  even  when  she  became  the  bride  of  another,  was  reverenced 
with  a  feeling  which  made  him  look  upon  her  happiness  as 
his  comfort,  and  her  children,  at  least  in  their  early  days,  as, 
in  a  great  measure,  his  charge. 

Lady  Augusta  was  wise  not  to  interrupt  him.  It  was 
but  a  short  reverie ;  and  he  roused  himself  from  it,  and,  ad- 
dressing her  as  if  conscious  of  some  unlooked-for  considera- 
tion, said  almost  gently,  yet  with  a  curious  abruptness,  "  She 
is  her  grandmother's  image  ;  don't  they  say  so  %  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  heard  anything  about  her  grand- 
mother." 

The  Admiral  turned  away.  "  So  you  have  been  out  by 
yourself,  little  woman  ?  " 

"  Only  a  short  way,  sir  :  just  across  the  paddock  and 
down  the  lane." 

"  To  see  Mrs.  Lowrie,  eh  ?  " 

The  child  regarded  him  in  astonishment. 

"  I  know  more  than  you  would  guess,  you  see,"  said  the 
Admiral,  nodding  at  her  good-naturedly.  "  And  what 
business  had  you  at  Mrs.  Lowcrie's  %  " 

"  I  read  to  her  when  I  can,"  said  Susan  ;  "  her  eyes  are 
bad." 

"  And  now  you  are  going  to  look  after  the  parrot   at  old 
Miss  Harvey's?" 
2 


24:  IVOBS. 

Susan  laughed.     "  I  should  like  it,  sir,  hut  I  mustn't." 

"  Mustn't  ?     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Mamma  told  me  to  do  my  lessons  for  to-morrow  ;  so  I 
must  go  in." 

"  And  we  are  keeping  you,"  exclaimed  Lady  Augusta. 
"  My  dear  Admiral,  don't  you  see  the  child  wants  to  go  ?  " 

"  Not  she  ;  she  likes  to  stay  here  and  talk  to  me.  Now 
little  one,  stand  on  the  step,  and  I  shall  hear  you  better." 

Susan  glanced  at  Lady  Augusta,  and  hesitated. 

"  If  you  wish  to  converse  with  her,"  said  Lady  Augusta 
coldly,  "  you  had  better  take  her  with  you  some  way  in  the 
carriage.     The  horses  don't  like  waiting." 

"  A  capital  thought !  jump  up,  child." 

But  Susan  stood  still. 

"  Jump  up,"  repeated  the  Admiral  sharply 

"  Please,  sir,  mamma  said  I  was  to  do  my  lessons." 

"  Nonsense — nonsense  !     Who  cares  for  the  lessons  ?  " 

Susan  looked  for  support  to  Lady  Augusta,  but  found  that 
she  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  disentangling  the  fringe  of 
her  parasol  to  notice  what  was  going  on.  The  colour  rushed 
to  the  child's  cheeks  : — "  I  would  rather  go  in, — I  promised." 

"  Promised,  little  goose  ! — What  did  you  do  that  for  %  " 

"  I  was  obliged,  because  last  time  I  went  to  Miss  Harvey's 
without  leave,"  was  the  honest  but  timid  answer. 

"  Oh,  not  quite  immaculate !  "  said  the  Admiral,  in  an 
under  tone. 

"  Please,  sir,  may  I  go  %  "  asked  Susan,  more  boldly. 

The  Admiral  laughed.  "  Aye,  with  leave  ;  for  you  would 
be  sure  to  do  so  in  another  minute  without  it.  Next  time  I 
ask  you  to  go  for  a  drive,  promise  me  there  shan't  be  any 
promises  in  the  way." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Susan,  and  an  arch  snide  brightened  her 
face  :   "  mamma's  promises  come  first." 


.,  ivoks.  25 

"  A  good  rule  for  a  child's  life  :  Don't  yon  think  so  ?  " 
inquired  the  Admiral,  appealing  to  Lady  Augusta. 

"  Excellent.  Drive  on,  Cave.  Good  bye,  Susan ;  tell 
your  mamma  we  were  very  sorry  not  to  find  her  at  home." 
And  Lady  Augusta  sat  proudly  upright  in  the  carriage, 
whilst  the  Admiral  tried  to  watch  the  little  girl,  as  with  a 
quick  step,  delighted  at  being  at  last  released,  she  ran  into 
the  house. 

An  hour  afterwards  Mrs.  Graham  put  her  hand  fondly  on 
Susan's  shoulder,  and  startled  her,  as  she  was  repeating 
Gray's  Elegy  to  herself,  with  her  two  arms  leaning  on  the 
table,  and  her  forehead  resting  upon  her  hands.  "  Hard  at 
work,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  ready,  dear  mamma.  Lady  Augusta  called 
and  an  old  gentleman,  and  they  kept  me." 

"  Oh !  Lady  Augusta !  I  saw  her  carriage  drive  by  the 
school."  But  Mrs.  Graham  did  not  say  that  she  was  sorry  to 
nave  missed  her. 

"  The  old  gentleman  wanted  me  to  go  for  a  drive,  but  I 
couldn't,"  continued  Susan.  "  He  was  a  very  odd  old  gen- 
tleman. He  asked  if  I  wasn't  like  my  grandmamma,  and 
Lady  Augusta  said  she  didn't  know  anything  about  her ; 
was  that  true  1 " 

"  Of  course,  if  Lady  Augusta  said  so."  Mrs.  Graham 
answered  rather  mechanically  ;  and  Susan  looked  at  her  for 
an  instant,  and  then  went  on  with  her  lesson. 

Mrs.  Graham  spoke  again.  "  The  old  gentleman  was  a 
very  old  friend,  Susan ;  a  friend  of  your  grandmamma  when 
she  was  a  child.     He  liked  to  think  you  were  like  her." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great,  great  many  years  ago,"  said 
Susan,  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  a  great  many.  Before  any  one  (bought  either  of 
you  or  me." 

A  very  perplexing  idea  that  fact  of  non-existence  was  to 


26  ivoks. 

Susan,  and  it  made  her  silent  for  some  seconds,  whilst  her 
mother  opened  a  writing  desk,  and  sat  down  to  enter  some 
memoranda  in  her  school  hook. 

Susan  interrupted  her  after  a  time :  "  Mamma,  Helen's 
grandmamma  was  my  grandmamma  too.  Does  the  old  gen- 
tleman think  that  we  are  hoth  like  her  ?  " 

"  Scarcely,  I  should  think ;  Helen's  hair  and  eyes  are  so 
dark." 

"  Then  is  he  fond  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  I  have  never  been  able  yet  to  talk  to  him 
about  her." 

"  I  shan't  like  him  if  he  isn't,  mamma,"  and  Susan 
turned  slowly  round,  and  spoke  in  a  tone  so  solemn,  that 
Mrs.  Graham  could  scarcely  refrain  from  a  smile.  "  I  love 
Helen ;  and  I  have  promised  to  love  her  all  my  life." 

"  Promised,  dear  child  %     That  is  a  very  serious  matter." 

"  I  did  promise  though  one  day,  mamma ;  and  Helen 
promised  too.  We  thought  there  was  no  harm,  because  we 
were  cousins." 

"  But  cousins  may  change,  Susan :  they  do  very  often." 

"  But  Helen  and  I  can't,"  persisted  Susan,  "  because  we 
have  promised." 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  going  on  with  her 
writing  as  though  she  wished  the  conversation  to  be  dropped. 
But  there  was  a  considerable  amount  of  perseverance  in 
Susan's  disposition,  and  she  continued :  "  we  made  our  pro- 
mise last  week,  when  I  went  over  to  Ivors,  and  we  played  in 
the  summer-house  by  the  lake.  We  said  it  quite  properly, 
and  we  meant  it,  mamma ;  Helen  always  means  what  she 
says." 

"  I  know  she  does  ;  she  inherits  truth." 

Susan  did  not  quite  understand. 

"  Her  father  is  a  very  sincere  person,  and  so  was  her 
dear  mother,"  added  Mrs.  Graham  in  explanation. 


ivors.  27 

"  I  like  to  play  with  Helen  better  than  any  one  else," 
pursued  Susan,  "  though  she  does  get  into  a  passion  some- 
times. She  makes  up  so  soon.  Grace  Berry  said  one  day 
that  she  thought  Helen  was  selfish ;  hut  she  is  never  selfish 
with  me." 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  contradict  her,"  said  Mrs.  Graham, 

smiling. 

Susan  evidently  thought  it  a  disagreeable  but  true  sug- 
gestion. 

"  Helen  doesn't  like  Grace,"  she  said ;  "  so  I  dare  say 
that  is  why  Grace  doesn't  like  her.  Helen  likes  very  few 
persons,  very  few  indeed ;  and  she  thinks  some  of  the  people 
we  know  very  odd." 

"  She  knows  little  enough  about  them,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham,  quickly. 

"  But  she  was  very  sorry  for  Mrs.  Lowrie's  bad  eyes, 
when  I  told  her  about  them,"  replied  Susan,  "  and  she  said 
she  should  like  to  take  turns  with  me  to  go  and  read  to  her ; 
and  I  told  Mrs.  Lowrie,  and  she  called  her  a  dear,  kind, 
little  thing.    I  suppose  Lady  Augusta  wouldn't  let  Helen  go." 

"  It  is  too  far,"  was  Mrs.  Graham's  evasive  answer. 

"  And  Helen  liked  to  hear  about  Kate  Hope's  lame 
foot,"  continued  Susan,  "  and  wanted  to  give  me  all  the 
money  she  had  for  her.  It  was  only  a  shilling,  because  she 
had  bought  such  a  beautiful  workbox  for  mademoiselle  on  her 
birthday,  so  I  did  not  like  to  take  it.  She  never  laughs  at 
poor  people,- — only  such  people  as  Mrs.  Mather,  and  the  Miss 
Gaunts,  when  they  wear  those  funny  blue  bonnets." 

"My  little  Susan  must  learn  not  to  laugh  at  blue  bonnets 
or  green,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  gently.  "  People  often  show 
tlie  worst  part  of  themselves  in  their  dress.  The  Miss 
(Jaunts  have  been  kinder  to  Kate  Hope  than  any  other  per- 
sons in  Wingfield." 

"Have  they?  and  is  Kate  better!" 


28  Ivors. 

"  Not  much.  Miss  Mary  Gaunt  is  going  to  pav  fiw  < 
wheel  chair  to  take  her  out  every  day  for  a  fortnight." 

"Mrs.  Lowrie  said  this  afternoon  that  she  would  lenu 
Kate  some  hooks,"  continued  Susan. 

"And  Mrs.  Mather  has  sent  her  a  cushion  and  a  foot- 
stool. People  in  Wingfield  are  very  kind,  Susan,  though 
they  do  wear  funny  hlue  honnets." 

"  Helen  would  not  laugh  at  them  if  she  knew  them," 
was  Susan's  reply,  spoken  almost  to  herself,  and  seeing  her 
mother  leave  the  room,  she  returned  to  her  lesson. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

No  one  could  be  surprised  that  Lady  Augusta  Clare  did  not 
like  Mrs.  Graham.  It  was  a  necessity  of  Lady  Augusta's 
nature  to  patronise  and  reform,  and  Mrs.  Graham  was 
strangely  invulnerable  to  patronage,  and  deaf  to  suggestions. 
When  first  established  at  Wingfield  Court,  Lady  Augusta, 
in  consideration  of  the  attention  due  to  Helen's  aunt,  had 
adopted  the  protecting  line ;  offered  the  services  of  one  of 
the  under  gardeners  at  Ivors  to  put  the  place  in  order,  recom- 
mended a  housemaid,  and  talked  to  her  housekeeper  about  a 
nursery-maid.  She  had  even  taken  such  an  interest  in  Mrs. 
Graham's  household,  as  to  suggest  that  a  page  would  do  as 
well  as  a  parlour  maid,  and  might  save  the  expense  of  a  boy 
to  clean  boots  and  shoes,  besides  being  taught  in  time  to 
work  in  the  garden.  Nothing  indeed  was  too  trifling  *o 
engage  her  attention,  and  Mrs.  Graham  was  deluged  with 
Parisian  patterns  of  children's  dresses,  recipes  for  whooping 
cough  and  measles,  to  say  nothing  of  works  on  education, 
catalogues  of  story  books,  cards  of  prayers,  and  illuminated 
picture-books,  all  not  only  desirable,  but,  according  to  Lady 


ivoes.  29 

Augusta's  assertion,   absolutely  necessary    for  good   educa- 
tion. 

But  Mrs.  Graham  quietly  stepped  aside  from  the  shelter 
of  Lady  Augusta's  wing,  and  went  on  her  way  with  the  par- 
lour maid  instead  of  the  page,  the  cotton  dresses  made  by  a 
lame  girl  in  Wingfield,  the  hooks  which  she  had  found  useful 
from  experience,  and,  above  all,  with  no  theory  of  education 
but  that  taught  her  by  the  discipline  which  she  had  for  years 
exercised  over  her  own  heart.  "  Educate  yourself,  and  you 
will  learn  how  to  educate  others,"  was  the  advice  given  her 
by  a  friend  soon  after  her  marriage,  and  she  had  followed  it 
implicitly.  „  Lady  Augusta  could  understand  neither  the 
plan  nor  its  results.  Her  own  heart  was  a  mystery  into 
which  she  had  never  searched.  The  world  had  been  her 
training  school,  and  according  to  the  maxims  of  the  world 
she  ruled  her  outward  conduct ;  careful  only  to  choose  that 
form  of  worldliness  which  bore  the  highest  reputation.  Mrs. 
Graham  constantly  appeared  to  her  inconsistent.  Professing 
to  be  strict,  she  allowed  her  children  a  freedom  which  Lady 
Augusta  would  have  thought  certain  to  be  Helen's  ruin. 
Unquestionably  religious,  she  seldom  talked  of  religion.  A 
most  refined  lady,  accustomed  in  her  early  days  to  move  in 
the  same  society  as  Lady  Augusta  herself,  she  could  live 
contentedly  in  a  country  neighbourhood  and  on  a  small  in- 
come, and  join  in  mixed  country  sociel  y,  without  apparently 
seeing  or  feeling  the  want  of  polish,  or  even  the  vulgarity 
and  pretension,  which  she  was  unavoidably  obliged  occasion- 
ally to  encounter.  Where  Lady  Augusta  would  have  been 
jarred  and  irritated,  Mrs.  Graham  was  either  blind  or  indif- 
ferent. Lady  Augusta  was  provoked  ;  and  not  only  because 
Mrs.  Graham  declined  to  travel  along  her  road,  but  because, 
from  some  unaccountable  cause,  the  objects  at  which  both 
professed  to  aim  seemed  to  be  reached  by  her  without  dilli- 
c.ulty ;  whilst  Lady  Augusta,  notwithstanding  her  success  in 


30  IVOKS. 

some  points,  was   in   a  perpetual  turmoil  of  effort  and  dis- 
appointment with  regard  to  others. 

Susan  Graham  was  to  be  trusted  at  all  times.  Helen 
was  obedient  in  Lady  Augusta's  presence,  but,  if  report  said 
truly,  most  perversely  wliful  in  her  absence.  Susan's  be- 
haviour in  church  was  so  simply  reverent  that  no  one  ever 
thought  of  watching  her ;  Helen's  wandering  eyes  were  a 
perpetual  interruption.  Susan,  if  spoken  to,  could  be  agree- 
able without  being  in  the  least  forward ;  but  notice  made 
Helen  proudly  shy  and  self-conscious.  Susan  was  kind  and 
considerate  ;  Helen  thoughtlessly  tyrannical,  and  as  selfish  as 
the  instinct  of  a  naturally  noble  nature  could  permit.  A 
good  deal  of  this  difference  was,  no  doubt,  to  be  laid  to  the 
account  of  diversity  of  character.  Lady  Augusta  would  not 
have  cared  if  Susan  had  shown  marked  faults  which  might 
be  compared  with  Helen's ;  but  it  was  exceedingly  trying  to 
hear  the  child  constantly  held  up  as  a  pattern,  and  to  be 
told  that  Mrs.  Graham's  system  was  so  admirable,  whilst  in 
Lady  Augusta's  opinion  she  had  no  system  at  all. 

It  was  the  same  with  their  lessons.  Helen  was  exces- 
sively clever ;  Susan's  abilities  were  only  moderate :  but 
every  governess  who  had  any  knowledge  of  the  children  de- 
clared that  Susan  was  at  least  a  year  before  her  cousin  in 
acquirements.  Helen  herself  acquiesced  in  all  this  with  per- 
fect  good  humour.  Rivalry  was  foreign  to  her  nature ;  and 
Susan  was  so  timid  and  unobtrusive,  that  there  was  in  fact 
little  opportunity  for  any  feeling  of  the  kind.  But  it  was 
intensely  galling  to  Lady  Augusta.  Her  jealousy  of  Mrs. 
Graham  became  at  one  period  so  marked  as  to  be  apparent 
even  to  Sir  Henry.  For  the  first  time  since  their  marriage 
he  ventured  to  remonstrate.  Mrs.  Graham  was  his  sister-in- 
law,  associated  with  the  truest  happiness  he  had  ever  known. 
Neglect  of  her  seemed  an  insult  to  the  memory  of  his 
wife.     He  descanted  forcibly  upon  her  claims  to  every  cour- 


IVOKS.  31 

tesy  and  attention ;  and  Lady  Augusta  with  that  curious 
worldly  tact  which  is  such  a  fruitful  source  of  self-deceit, 
yielded  the  point  graciously, — acknowledged  that  she  had 
thought  the  little  Grahams  not  quite  suitable  companions  for 
Helen,  and  therefore  had  discouraged  the  intimacy ;  hut  of 
course,  if  Sir  Henry  desired  it,  she  could  not  hut  obey  his 
wishes.  And  Sir  Henry  went  away,  congratulating  himself 
upon  having  given  Helen  the  most  judicious  and  considerate 
of  stepmothers  ;  whilst  Lady  Augusta,  with  equal  satisfaction, 
triumphed  in  the  self-control  she  had  exercised,  and  resolved 
still  to  follow  her  own  way,  only  more  guardedly. 

The  jealousy  slept,  but  it  was  not  dead.  It  was  called 
forth  again  upon  the  arrival  of  Admiral  Clare.  Lady  Au- 
gusta knew  little  or  nothing  of  the  history  of  the  old  man's 
life ;  if  she  had  known,  she  would  have  given  him  no  sym- 
pathy. Feelings  which  dated  from  sixty  years  back  would 
have  had  no  life  in  her  eyes.  They  could  be  but  mummies, 
strange  and  repulsive.  But  he  had  not  been  at  Ivors  a  day 
without  showing  his  interest  in  Mrs.  Graham ;  and  Lady 
Augusta  was  compelled  to  listen  to  commendations  lav- 
ishly bestowed  by  Sir  Henry  and  eagerly  received  by  the 
Admiral,  and  even  at  times  to  join  in  them  herself,  though 
in  that  tone  of  faint  praise  the  meaning  of  which  was  dis- 
covered when  she  little  imagined  or  desired  it.  For  Lady 
Ausnista  would  have  been  unwilling  to  thwart  the  Admiral 
in  any  fancy,  even  for  a  person  whom  she  disliked.  It  was 
her  object  to  attach  him  to  Ivors ;  yet  not,  as  some  might 
have  conjectured,  for  the  sake  of  the  comfortable  fortune  which 
he  might  leave  to  any  person  he  chose.  Lady  Augusta  cared 
very  little  for  money :  she  had  never  known  the  want  of  it ; 
but  she  did  care  a  great  deal  for  the  carrying  out  of  her  pet 
schemes  ;  and  one  which  she  had  greatly  at  heart  might  be 
in  a  considerable  degree  aided  or  retarded  by  the  Admiral's 
intervention.     Her  plans  for  Helen  were  riot  limited  to  the 


32  ivoes. 

present.  She  was  far-seeing,  and  looked  forward  not  only 
to  the  little  girl's  introduction  into  the  world,  but  to  that 
which  was  the  unacknowledged  but  ultimate  object  of  such 
introduction, — her  marriage.  Already  in  her  own  mind  it 
was  planned ;  and,  to  do  Lady  Augusta  justice,  not  unwise- 
ly, so  far  as  any  such  plans  ever  can  be  wise.  Helen's  first 
cousin's  cousin,  Claude  Egerton,  was  as  yet  only  a  boy,  just 
leaving  Eton  ;  but  he  was  clever,  handsome,  bore  a  remark- 
ably high  character,  and  was  heir  to  a  large  property  adjoin- 
ing one  of  Sir  Henry's  estates.  And  Lady  Augusta,  having 
determined  in  her  own  mind  that  it  was  much  better  for 
Helen's  happiness  to  choose  for  her  than  to  give  her  the  op- 
portunity of  choosing  for  herself,  and  considering  the  con- 
nection extremely  eligible,  was  already  scheming  to  ask 
Claude  Egerton  to  Ivors,  and  give  him  an  interest  in  Helen's 
home.  But  he  had  lost  his  father,  and  the  Admiral  was  his 
guardian,  and,  as  guardians  often  are,  was  inclined  to  be 
perverse.  Lady  Augusta  talked  of  the  pleasure  she  would 
have  in  inviting  Claude  to  Ivors,  and  making  him  acquaint- 
ed with  Maurice  Clare ;  but  the  Admiral  declared  that  the 
boy  would  do  much  better  to  go  abroad.  She  discoursed 
upon  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  relationships,  and  the  Ad- 
miral seemed  to  be  blind  to  the  fact  that  any  connection 
existed  between  the  families.  He  would  not  see  any  sense 
in  Lady  Augusta's  opinion  that  it  was  good  for  neighbour- 
ing properties  to  fall  into  the  same  hands,  and  did  not  at  all 
enter  into  the  wish  that  Claude  would  marry  young ;  but 
rather  expressed  a  hope  that  he  would  look  about  him,  and 
not  throw  himself  away :  in  fact  he  was  inclined,  as  Lady 
Augusta  could  not  help  perceiving,  to  contradict  her  for  the 
mere  sake  of  contradiction.  An  incipient  fit  of  the  gout 
might  in  a  degree  account  for  this.  The  Admiral  was  but 
human  ;  and  what  temper  can  be  expected  to  stand  a  twinge 
of  gout !     Lady  Augusta  was  wonderfully  enduring  in  the 


ivoks.  33 

hope  of  better  days ;  and  when  she  found  that  the  mention 
of  Claude  Egerton's  name  excited  opposition,  she  very  wisely 
dropped  it.  But  not  the  less  earnestly  did  she  work  for  her 
purpose  by  humouring  the  Admiral's  will ;  and  with  such 
success  that,  before  three  weeks  had  passed  after  the  call 
made  at  Wingfield,  her  point  was  gained.  Claude  Egerton 
was  invited  to  Ivors  for  a  fortnight ;  and  the  price  paid  for 
the  boon  was  an  invitation  given  to  little  Susan  Graham  for 
a  day. 

Far-scheming  worldly  people  must  have  great  patience 
and  great  faith  in  themselves.  Very  much  wiser  are  they  in 
their  generation  than  "  the  children  of  light."  Few  are  to 
be  found  to  toil  for  a  distant  Heaven  as  Lady  Augusta  Clare 
toiled  for  earth.  Eight  years  at  least  were  to  pass  before 
she  could  hope  to  see  even  the  beginning  of  the  end  at  which 
she  aimed, — eight  years,  in  which  Helen  and  Claude  might 
both  be  taken  ill  and  die,  or  the  boy's  character  might 
change,  or  his  interest  might  fail  to  be  excited,  or,  if  ex- 
cited, might  fail  to  survive  the  various  and  absorbing  pur- 
suits of  manhood.  Yet  her  determination  never  wavered. 
The  very  existence  of  an  obstacle  was  but  an  additional 
motive  for  pursuing  her  object.  There  was  a  large  amount 
of  enterprise,  and  what  in  a  man  would  have  been  the  spirit 
of  speculation,  in  Lady  Augusta's  disposition ;  and  all  the 
chances  of  failure  were  only  so  many  more  incentives  to  per- 
severance. And  so  Claude  Egerton  came  to  Ivors,  and  was 
petted,  and  told  that  he  was  to  look  upon  Lady  Augusta  as 
a  mother,  and  Sir  Henry  as  a  father ;  and  Maurice  was  to  be 
his  brother,  and  Helen  his  sister*;  whilst  his  will  was  hu- 
moured and  his  opinions  were  deferred  to,  and  everything 
was  done  to  spoil  him,  and  render  him  unworthy  of  the  des- 
tiny which  Lady  Augusta  had  thought  fit  to  assign  him. 

"  A  fortunate  fellow,"  said  the  world,  as  it  looked  on  ■ 
and  Claude  Egerton  was  fortunate,  but  not  for  the  reasons 


34:  IVORS. 

which  the  world  would  have  assigned.  He  was  fortunate 
because,  in  the  ordering  of  Providence,  the  temptations  of 
wealth,  and  talent,  and  high  position  in  the  world,  had  been 
balanced  by  early  and  great  sorrow. 

He  was  an  orphan  at  fifteen.  His  father  was  drowned 
whilst  boating  on  the  river  which  flowed  through  his  own 
"rounds  ;  his  mother  died  three  months  afterwards  of  a  bro- 
ken  heart.  The  first  grief  alone  would  have  crushed  the  boy 
to  the  dust  for  a  season ;  the  second  sobered  him  for  life. 
His  parents  had  been  no  ordinary  people.  Eeligious,  simple, 
and  consistent,  they  had  given  him  an  example  which,  young 
as  he  was,  he  had  thoroughly  appreciated.  The  world  with- 
out them  was  one  great  blank ;  and  though  companions 
envied  him  his  freedom,  and  dependants  flattered  him  for  his 
wealth,  and  even  his  superiors  paid  all  outward  respect  to  his 
lalents,  Claude's  heart  still  ached  with  that  hollow,  dreary 
aching  which  nothing  but  affection  can  satisfy. 

Ivors  Avas  very  soothing  to  him  in  such  a  state  of  feeling. 
He  was  too  young  and  too  simple-minded  to  see  through 
Lady  Augusta's  pretence.  He  believed  her  cordiality  to  be 
sincere  ;  and  when  once  she  began  to  understand  him, — and 
that  was  when  he  had  been  one  day  only  in  the  house, — she 
took  pains  to  win  his  heart  by  sympathy  with  his  tastes  and 
even  his  foibles.  Fastidiousness  and  exclusiveness  were 
Claude's  characteristics,  as  they  were  hers  ;  though  with  him 
they  were  beginning  to  be  acknowledged  as  faults,  with  her 
they  were  cherished  as  virtues.  He  did  not,  indeed,  feel 
that  he  could  be  fond  of  her,  and  sometimes  wondered  why 
a  few  hearty  words  from'  Sir  Henry  should  seem  so  much 
more  valuable  than  the  unceasing  attentions  of  Lady  Au- 
gusta ;  but  she  was  very  kind,  and  he  was  grateful,  and  the 
awkward  reserve  which  had  marked  him  on  his  first  arrival 
wore  off  before  his  departure,  and  when  Lady  Augusta  hoped 
they  should  soon  see  him  again,  and  Sir  Henry  bade  him 


,  IVORS.  35 

remember  that  he  was  engaged  to  eat  his  Christmas  dinner 
with  them,  Claude  responded  to  the  invitation  with  a  readi- 
ness which  satisfied  Lady  Augusta  that  the  first  scene  of  the 
first  act  of  her  drama  had  been  successfully  performed. 
"  We  will  all  write  to  you,  Claude,"  were  Lady  Augusta's 
parting  words  ;  "  and  Helen  shall  tell  you  how  the  kitten 
and  the  puppy  agree."  Claude  did  not  particularly  wish  to 
hear  from  Helen,  who  was  to  him  only  a  pretty  little  for- 
ward child  of  ten  years  of  age,  very  apt  to  be  rude  and  con- 
ceiled  when  out  of  her  mamma's  sight ;  but  he  liked  anything 
which  kept  up  the  connection  with  Ivors, — was  duly  grate- 
ful, and  promised  to  write  in  return  ;  and  Lady  Augusta 
kept  Helen  by  her  side  in  the  hall,  that  she  might  see  the 
last  of  "  dear  Claude ,"  though  the  child  was  in  agony  to  run 
away  to  her  doll,  and  made  her  escape  just  as  Maurice,  who 
was  to  ride  with  his  friend  into  Wingfield,  came  rushing 
down  the  stairs,  nearly  throwing  his  little  sister  down  in  his 
eagerness  ;  and  mounting  his  pony,  called  out  to  Claude  that 
they  should  be  desperately  late,  and  rode  off  with  him. 

"  A  charming  boy,  Claude !  "  said  Lady  Augusta,  as  she 
went  back  to  the  library,  to  give  an  account  of  the  departure 
to  the  Admiral. 

"Your  Ladyship  is  pleased  to  flatter  him."  was  the 
reply;  and  Lady  Augusta  drew  back,  feeling  that  she  had 
touched  upon  a  peculiarity. 


UlAPTEll'V. 


Eight  years  !  a  long  time  to  pass,  a  short  time,  perhaps,  to 
describe.  Yet  many  events  happened  in  the  eight  years 
winch  dated  from  Claude  Egerton's  first  visit  to  Ivors, — 
events  interesting  and  important,  and  certainly  not  without 


30  IVORS. 

their  result  upon  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  the  individ- 
uals who  were  at  that  time  associated  in  intimacy,  hut  which 
would  sound  wearisome  if  chronicled.  It  would  he  vain,  for 
instance,  to  tell  how  Helen  was  tutored,  lectured,  and  made 
to  speak  French  like  a  Parisian,  and  chatter  German  to  a 
German  maid,  and  discourse  upon  Italy  in  the  pure  "lingua 
Toscana  in  hocca  Eomana,"  which  seemed  in  its  sweetness  as 
though  it  must  have  heen  her  native  tongue.  Useless  would 
it  he  to  give  a  catalogue  of  the  hooks  which  she  read  with 
Lady  Augusta,  or  the  course  of  mathematics  and  logic,  which 
she  followed  with  the  tutor  who  instructed  Maurice  in  the 
holidays  ;  and  though  it  was  very  pleasant  to  hear  her  light 
ringers  rush  over  the  piano  or  touch  the  harp,  and  enraptur- 
ing to  listen  to  the  thrilling  notes  of  her  rich,  liquid  voice,  it 
would  he  hut  an  uninteresting  task  to  enumerate  the  professors 
who  instructed  her  in  the  yearly  visits  to  London,  or  the  musi- 
cal ladies  who  occasionally  spent  a  few  months  at  Ivors  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  Miss  Clare  lessons. 

So  also  with  Claude  Egerton's  intimacy  at  Ivors.  If 
Lady  Augusta  was  satisfied  with  the  result,  there  can  he  no 
need  to  inquire  into  the  means  hy  which  it  was  attained. 
( Jlaude's  visits  were  very  like  each  other.  The  progress  of 
his  acquaintance  was  quite  natural.  It  was  only  by  degrees 
that  it  came  to  he  considered  a  matter  of  course  that  he 
should  always  spend  Christmas  at  Ivors.  There  was  no  re- 
straint put  upon  his  inclinations,  and  latterly  he  had  heen 
there  very  little,  having  spent  more  than  a  year  and  a  half 
on  a  continental  tour.  Even  the  lynx-eyed  old  Admiral, 
who  had,  after  two  years'  uncertainty,  bought  a  small  estate 
between  Ivors  and  "VVingfield,  could  see  no  reason  to  find 
fault.  Everything  was  managed  by  Lady  Augusta  with 
apparent  simplicity,  and  Helen  herself  was  so  entirely  free 
from  any  consciousness  of  the  web  which  was  weaving  for 


IVORS. 


37 


her  future  destinies,  that  it  would  have  seemed  wrong  to  sug- 
gest a  suspicion  of  plan  or  meaning  in  all  that  went  on. 

"Whether  the  Admiral  might  have  been  more  clearsighted 
if  differently  circumstanced,  may  perhaps  he  doubted.  But 
his  interests  were  now  wholly  given  to  Mrs.  Graham ;  and 
Lady  Augusta,  finding  that  the  preoccupation  of  his  thoughts 
prevented  him  from  interfering  with  her  own  schemes,  was 
less  inclined  to  quarrel  with  the  conduct  which  might  at  times 
have  been  construed  into  neglect.  He  had  grown  very  infirm 
in  the  course  of  eight  years,  and  seldom  now  moved  from  his 
own  fireside  at  Heath  Lodge,  though  Lady  Augusta  gave  him 
stated  invitations  at  stated  times,  and  visited  him  regularly 
once  a  month,  and  made  Helen  ride  over  much  oftener.  She 
cared  nothing  for  him  ;  indeed,  if  obliged  to  confess  the  truth, 
she  would  probably  have  owned  that  she  disliked  him,  and  un- 
doubtedly she  was  quite  conscious  that  he  disliked  her ;  but 
dislike  had  no  influence  upon  Lady  Augusta's  actions.  Hers 
was  the  worldly  charity  which  can  "  bear  all  things  "  for  its 
own  object ;  and  whilst  the  fact  of  the  Admiral's  residence 
at  Heath  Lodge  brought  Claude  Egerton  more  frequently 
into  the  neighbourhood  of  Ivors,  she  was  quite  willing  to 
make  the  little  sacrifices  of  cordiality  which  were  required  to 
keep  upon  good  terms  with  the  gouty,  irritable,  but  kind- 
hearted  old  man. 

Eight  years  had  worked  great  changes  also  in  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's family.  Susan  Graham  was  now  nineteen,  and  Isabella 
was  seventeen,  and  Anna  was  growing  so  tall  as  quite  to  look 
down  upon  her  eldest  sister,  and  Charlie  bad  long  since  cut 
all  his  teeth,  and  ceased  to  take  much  interest  in  old  Miss 
Earvey's  parrot,  and  instead,  was  a  schoolboy,  proud  ot 
standing  high  in  the  opinion  of  the  head  master  of  the 
Wingfield  Grammar  School,  though  as  much  devoted  to 
cricket  as  to  Latin  verses. 

Mrs.  Graham  had  many  anxieties,  but  they  had  not  yet 


38  ivoes. 

made  her  look  old.  Wrinkles  had  marked  but  lightly  her 
sweet,  bright,  clever  face ;  upon  the  "whole,  perhaps  it  was 
more  sunshiny  than  when  she  first  came  to  Wingfield.  Sor- 
row for  her  husband's  loss  was  then  too  recent  to  be  shaken 
off.  Now,  the  first  poignant  grief  was  softened ;  though  he 
was  always  present  to  her  in  thought ;  she  could  feel  that  she 
was  travelling  towards  rather  than  away  from  him,  and  care 
for  the  children  had  drawn  her  out  of  herself,  and  restored 
the  naturally  cheerful  tone  of  her  mind.  The  Admiral  often 
said  that  she  was  much  the  youngest  of  the  party,  and  cer- 
tainly she  was  more  like  Susan's  elder  sister  than  her  mother. 
Activity  and  energy,  both  of  body  and  mind,  she  possessed 
in  an  uncommon  degree,  and  so  far  she  was  like  Lady  Au- 
gusta ;  but  there  was  no  love  of  power  in  Mrs.  Graham.  It 
was  a  gentle,  fresh,  inspiriting  influence  which  she  exercised. 
Lady  Augusta  cared  only  to  show  what  she  could  do  herself ; 
Mrs.  Graham  thought  only  of  what  she  could  induce  others 
to  do.  Her  daughters  were  very  unlike  her  ;  they  resembled 
their  father  more  than  their  mother ;  and  Colonel  Graham 
had  been  a  reserved  man,  with  a  tendency  to  morbidness, 
which  was  painfully  inherited  by  Isabella ;  whilst  Anna  had 
exhibited  from  infancy  a  proud,  wayward  temper,  requiring 
the  utmost  tact  to  subdue.  Mrs.  Graham  Had  serious  diffi- 
culties t3  encounter,  and  much  experience  to  gain  in  the 
labour  of  education ;  and  she  made  many  blunders,  and  re- 
ceived a  good  deal  of  good  and  bad  advice  from  her  friends 
in  consequence ;  but  in  spite  of  it  all,  in  some  unaccountable 
way, — unaccountable  at  least  to  Lady  Augusta, — the  blunders 
worked  well  in  the  end.  No  house  was  more  cheerful  than 
Wingfield  Court, — no  home  was  more  domestic, — no  children 
could  be  more  affectionate  or  dutiful  than  Mrs.  Graham's. 
The  problem  was  not  easily  solved  by  the  world,  still  less  by 
Mrs.  Graham  herself.  She  was  so  conscious  of  her  own  de- 
ficiencies, it  seemed  wonderful  that  her  children  should  turn 


Ivors.  39 

out  so  well.  She  felt  it  to  be  a  special  mercy,  the  answer — 
as  she  humbly  trusted — to  many  imperfect  but  very  earnest 
prayers ;  and  so  she  put  aside  every  thought  of  herself,  and 
-worked  on  as  before,  gladly  and  hopefully,  with  the  watchful 
inward  eye  keeping  guard  over  the  pure  spring  of  the  inward 
life,  and  the  fountain  of  love  and  thankfulness  welling  forth 
from  it  unceasingly,  to  be  the  source  of  vigour  and  earnest- 
ness to  all  around  her. 

Self-education !  there  lay  the  secret.  Doubtless  God 
does  hear  and  answer  prayer,  a  mother's  prayer  especially ; 
but  He  has  for  the  most  part  Avilled  to  work  by  means,  and  we 
have  no  right-to  expect  miracles  to  be  interposed  in  our  favour. 

If  we  do  what  we  teach,  our  children  will  do  the  same ; 
and  they  will  do  what  we  do,  in  spite  of  our  teaching ;  and 
no  system,  be  it  ever  so  wise,  will  work  for  good  without 
good  practice ;  and  no  system,  be  it  ever  so  erroneous,  will 
work  entirely  for  evil  with  it. 

It  is  no  new  maxim.  The  proverb  that  example  is  better 
than  precept,  is  older  than  any  one  now  living.  Perhaps  we 
might  put  it  more  strongly,  and  say  that  precept  is  nothing 
without  practice,  strictly  and  literally.  So  when  Ave  sigh 
over  the  low,  worldly,  selfish  tone  of  mind  which,  in  spite  of 
careful  training,  we  perhaps  discover  in  our  children,  we  may 
learn  to  search  into  our  own  hearts  for  the  cause. 

The  morning  occupations  were  finished.  Anna  was  put- 
ting away  her  books,  Isabella  closing  the  piano,  Susan  seated 
at  a  little  writing-table,  just  beginning  a  note. 

"  Look  at  Susan,"  said  Anna,  laughing  ;  "  beginning  to 
write  now :  why,  it  wants  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
dinner !  " 

"  Just  enough  time,"  replied  Susan  :  "  we  shall  be  going 
out  directly  after  dinner." 

"  Nut  directly  after  dinner,  I  hope,"  said  Isabella,  rathei 
languidly.     "  I  hate  going  out  so  soon." 


40  IVOKS. 

"  We  must  set  off  rather  soon  if  we  mean  to  go  to  the 
Lodge,"  continued  Anna;  "the  days  are  beginning  to 
close  in." 

"  And  the  Admiral  keeps  us  so  long,  always,"  said  Isa- 
bella ;  "  his  stories  with  mamma  are  never  ending." 

"  Poor  dear  old  Admiral !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  looking  up. 
"  You  must  remember  to  take  him  Charlie's  last  letter.  I 
promised  it  to  him  the  last  time  I  saw  him." 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  go  yourself,  Susan  %  "  inquired  Isa- 
bella, in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 

"  I  shall,  if  I  don't  ride ;  but  Helen  said  she  would  come 
over  if  she  could." 

"  We  shall  never  have  you,  now  Helen  is  come  back," 
observed  Isabella,  sighing :  "  that  is  the  only  reason  why  I 
dislike  her  being  here." 

"  Perhaps  the  pony  I  ride  will  be  out,"  said  Susan,  good- 
huniouredly  ;  "  and  then  I  can't  go.  You  know  Helen  only 
comes  over  on  speculation." 

"  She  ought  to  be  here  by  half-past  two,  if  she  comes  at 
all,  and  she  won't  manage  that,"  said  Anna. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Susan. 

"  Only  because  Anna  has  settled  that  she  won't,"  ex- 
claimed Isabella.  "  Anna's  love  of  punctuality  and  Helen's 
dislike  to  it  never  suit,  you  know." 

"  Helen  is  improved,  lately,"  observed  Susan. 

"  So  like  you,  dear  Susan  !  "  exclaimed  Isabella :  "  you 
never  will  hear  a  word  against  Helen." 

"  I  only  like  truth,"  replied  Susan  ;  "  and  Helen  is  cer- 
tainly improved." 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  see  it,"  said  Anna. 

"  Or  that  we  have  had  much  opportunity  of  seeing  it," 
observed  Isabella,  laughing ;  "  she  has  not  been  here  since 
April." 

Susan  laughed  too.     "Well!  we    will  give  up  the  punc- 


,  IVORS.  41 

tuality,  if  you  insist.  She  was  very  troublesome  last  year, 
I  remember." 

"  She  ought  to  have  learnt  better  by  this  time,"  said 
Anna.      "  How  Lady  Augusta  scolds  when  she  is  late !  " 

"  Just  the  way  to  make  her  worse,"  observed  Isabella. 
"  Helen  always  goes  precisely  the  reverse  way  to  what  Lady 
Augusta  wishes." 

"  Dear  Isabella !  please — I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  saj 
such  things,"  exclaimed  Susan.  "  People  will  think,  by  and 
by,  that  you  mean  them." 

''Isabella  does  mean  them,"  said  Anna,  "and  you  would 
mean  them  too,  Susan,  if  you  would  acknowledge  what  is  at 
the  bottom  of  your  heart.  But  you  know  we  are  both  very 
fond  of  Helen,"  she  added,  playfully,  "only  not  quite  so 
blind  as  you  are." 

"  I  always  understand  Susan's  blindness,"  said  Isabella ; 
"  I  should  be  blind  too,  if  any  one  was  as  fond  of  me  as 
Helen  is  of  Susan." 

"  A  great  many  people  are  just  as  fond  of  you,  Bella 
dear,  if  you  would  but  believe  it." 

Isabella  sighed.  "  I  don't  envy  you,  Susan ;  I  know 
you  quite  deserve  it ;  but  I  should  like  to  be  as  taking  as 
you  are." 

"  I  don't  think  Susan  is  taking,"  exclaimed  Anna, 
bluntly. 

Susan  laughed  heartily.  "  Thank  you,  Anna ;  I  never 
was  conceited  enough  yet  to  believe  that  I  was.  If  I  were 
beautiful,  and  graceful,  and  clever " 

"  Like  Helen,"  said  Anna,  archly. 

"  Well,  like  Helen," — I  may  just  as  well  say  it ;  though 
you  will  be  aure  to  quiz  me.  She  really  is  taking ;  and  if 
any  one  ever  has  a  fancy  for  me,  I  know  it  is  merely  by  way 
of  contrast." 

"I  don't  profess  to  comprehend  that  very  deep  sentence," 


42  ivors. 

said  Anna,  with  mock  gravity,  as  she  looiced  at  the  clock. 
"Five  minutes,  Susan,  if  you  wish  to  finish  your  letter." 

"  I  can't  finish  it  now,"  said  Susan,  thoughtfully.  "  Isa- 
bella, I  am  sure  you  must  know  what  I  mean.  "When  per- 
sons are  tired  of  taking  people " 

"  Then  they  take  to  untaking  ones,"  exclaimed  Anna. 
larjghinar. 

"Yes,  for  a  kind  of  rest." 

"  I  should  not  care  why  I  was  taken  to,"  said  Isabella, 
earnestly,  "  if  I  could  only  make  friends  like  Susan." 

"I  don't  think  the  number  of  one's  friends  signifies," 
said  Susan. 

"  I  didn't  mean  friends,  but  a  friend." 

"  One  dear  friend,  with  whom  you  might  retire  from  the 
world  and  keep  poultry,"  said  Anna. 

"  That  was  always  my  notion  of  a  friend  when  I  was  five 
years  old ;  I  don't  think  I  should  dislike  it  now ;  I  am  very 
fond  of  Dorkings." 

"  I  can't  talk  to  you,  Anna ;  I  can  to  Susan,"  said  Isa- 
bella. 

"  You  had  better  talk  to  mamma,"  exclaimed  Anna,  as 
her  mother  entered  the  room.  "  Dear  mamma,  Isabella  has 
set  her  heart  upon  retiring  from  the  cares  of  life,  and  keep- 
ing Dorkings  :  you  won't  object?  " 

"  Not  if  she  likes  it,  certainly.  But  Susan,  my  love,  you 
and  I  must  not  give  up  life's  cares  just  yet ; — there  is  an 
invitation  from  Lady  Augusta  to  a  dinner  party." 

"Oh,  mamma!  and  is  there  any  message  from  Helen 
about  the  riding  ?  " 

"  Much  more  important  that  than  the  invitation,"  whis- 
pered Anna,  as  her  sister  took  the  note. 

Susan's  countenance  when  she  laid  it  down  again  was 
expressive.  It  betokened  annoyance,  which  even  a  very 
calm,  self-controlled  character  could  not  instantly  check. 


,  ivoks.  43 

"  Faithless  ?  "  asked  Anna,  in  a  provoking  tone.  But 
when  Susan  did  not  smile,  she  went  up  to  her,  and  kissed 
her,  and  whispered,  "  I  can't  hear  her  if  she  vexes  you." 

"  It  is  not  Helen ;  it  is  Lady  Augusta,"  said  Susan. 
"  Mamma,  why  does  she  write  in  this  way?" 

"Because  it  suits  her,  my  love,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham,  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

Susan  took  up  the  note  again,  and  Anna  peeped  over  her 
shoulder  and  read  it  aloud : — 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Graham, 

"  The  Admiral  and  Mr.  Egerton  dine  with  us  to- 
morrow, and  I  am  sure  it  will  give  them  pleasure  to  meet 
you  and  your  eldest  daughter.  May  we  hope  to  see  you  at 
half-past  six  ?  I  regret  that  we  cannot  offer  beds,  as  our 
house  is  full.  Sir  Henry  unites  with  me  in  kind  compli- 
ments. 

"  Believe  me  very  truly  yours, 

"  Augusta  Clare." 

"  Helen  begs  me  to  add  that  she  is  sorry  it  will  not  be 
in  her  power  to  ride  with  your  daughter  this  afternoon." 

'  Anna  caught  the  note  from  her  sister's  hand,  and  tossed 
it  on  the  table.  "  Kind  compliments  indeed !  Mamma,  what 
does  she  mean  ?  " 

"  That  she  wants  us  to  dine  with  her,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham,  quietly. 

"  Our  aunt,  Lady  Augusta !  as  some  people  will  persist 
in  calling  her,"  said  Isabella,  looking  very  much  amused. 

"Aunt!  I  would  rather  have  a  kitchen-maid  for  my 
aunt!"  exclaimed  Anna.  "  Dear  mamma  !  "  and  she  drew 
near  her  mother  and  put  her  arm  round  her,  "  I  don't  mean 
to  be  naughty,  but  you  must  let  me  speak  out." 

"You  will   do  it  whether  I  let  you  or  not,  I  am  afraid, 


44  Ivors. 

child,  "  said  Mrs.  Graham,  lightly.  "But,  Anna  dear,  seri- 
ously, 1  don't  like  that  oft-hand  way  of  talking.  After  all, 
there  is  nothing  so  very  dreadful  in  the  note." 

"  Only  that  she  might  have  written  it  if  we  were  perfect 
strangers,"said  Isabella. 

"Scarcely:  she  would  not  give  strangers  quite  such  a 
short  invitation." 

"  Mamma  can  he  as  hitter  as  we  are  when  she  likes  it," 
said  Anna,  archly. 

"  It  is  too  much  of  a  trifle  to  be  bitter  about,"  observed 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"  It  is  just  like  Lady  Augusta,"  said  Isabella. 

"  And  not  at  all  like  Helen,"  remarked  Susan,  taking  up 
the  note  again.     "  Mamma,  must  we  go  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  my  love :  we  have  no  excuse  for  declining." 

"  But  it  is  so  rude,"  exclaimed  Anna.  "  One  can't  ac- 
cept rudeness." 

"  I  never  do  accept  it,  Anna :  I  never  suppose  it  can  be 
intended." 

"  Dear  mamma !  we  shall  never  be  as  good  as  you  are," 
said  Susan. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  more  worldly  wisdom  than  good- 
ness in  the  principle,  Susan.  But  I  have  found  it  save  me  a 
great  deal  of  annoyance  in  life.  If  people  are  inclined  to  be 
disagreeable,  nothing  baffles  them  so  much  as  not  to  have  it 
acknowledged.  As  for  Lady  Augusta,  it  really  is  not  worth 
while  to  take  any  notice ;  she  is  so  changeable :  if  she  is 
rude  to-day,  she  will  be  civil  to-morrow." 

"  That  is  what  tries  me  in  her,"  said  Susan.  "  If  she 
would  be  always  rude  I  shouldn't  care.  But  just  before  they 
went  to  London,  she  was  as  amiable  as  possible :  she  all  but 
kissed  me  when  she  said  good-bye." 

"What  an  escape!"  exclaimd  Anna.  "But  really, 
mamma,  why  should  you  go  to-morrow  %  " 


,  ivoiis.  45 

"  Because,  as  I  said  before,  I  don't  exactly  see  how  we  can 
say  no ;  and  the  Admiral  would  be  disappointed." 

"  It  is  a  trying  thing  to  him  to  dine  at  Ivors,"  said  Isa- 
bella. 

"  Mr.  Egerton  used  to  say  that  he  never  could  induce 
him  to  accept  an  invitation  if  he  had  two  days  given  him  to 
think  about  it." 

"  Mr.  Egerton  will  be  with  him  now  to  support  him," 
said  Susan.     "  I  didn't  know  he  was  returned  from  abroad." 

"  He  came  back  the  day  before  yesterday,'  said  Mrs. 
Graham.     "  It  will  be  one  pleasure  to-morrow  to  meet  him." 

"  Yes,"  observed  Susan,  heartily.  "  I  dare  say  we  shall 
see  him  at  the  Lodge  this  afternoon." 

"  He  will  be  out  shooting,"  observed  Mr.  Graham.  "  Be- 
sides, Susan,  one  can't  all  at  once  rush  into  travels,  which  is 
what  vou  would  like." 

"  I  can  with  him,"  said  Susan.  "  He  is  the  most  getting- 
-on-able-with  person,  as  Helen  would  call  him,  that  I  ever 
knew, — at  least  he  was.  I  suppose  his  travels  have  not 
altered  him." 

"  Of  course  he  gets  on  with  Helen,"  said  Isabella.  "  She 
has  known  him  all  her  life.     He  frightens  me." 

Susan  was  for  a  moment  thoughtful.  "  I  suppose  he 
would  be  called  frightening ;  but,  mamma,  is  any  one  really 
frightening  who  lets  you  feel  in  conversation  that  you  are 
treading  on  firm  ground ;  that  he  has  no  quicksands  in  his 
mind?" 

Mrs.  Graham  smiled.  "  I  can't  answer  metaphysical 
questions  all  in  a  hurry,  dear  child.  Besides,  I  must  write 
my  answer  now  ;  and  then — to  dinner." 


4G 


IVORS. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  Claude,  my  boy,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  yourself 
now  ?  "  asked  the  Admiral,  as  Claude  Egerton  stood  by  the 
fire,  waiting,  in  compliance  with  one  of  the  old  man's  fan- 
cies, to  pour  out  the  glass  of  port  wine  with  which  he  always 
concluded  the  luncheon,  which  it  was  his  whim  to  eat  alone 
in  his  own  study.  The  answer  came  very  slowly.  Claude 
Egerton  was  always  rather  slow  in  speech,  and  the  question 
was  a  serious  one. 

"  I  have  thought  of  Parliament,  sir,  if  the  present  mem- 
ber for  Ramsay  should  resign,  as  they  say  he  will.  I  am  not 
sure,  however,  that  I  am  fitted  for  it." 

"Pshaw!  That  old  mock  modesty!  Throw  it  away, 
my  boy,  as  soon  as  you  can ;  it  will  do  you  more  harm  than 
good.  Why  on  earth  are  you  not  as  well  fitted  for  Parlia- 
ment as  half  the  boobies  Avho  enter  it  ?  " 

"  Precisely,  my  dear  sir ; "  and  Claude  smiled  with  a  sin- 
gularly arch  smile,  which  lit  up  his  clever,  grave,  but  stern 
face  so  as  entirely  to  change  its  expression.  "  It  is  because 
I  feel  they  are  boobies,  that  I  don't  want  to  add  one  to  the 
number." 

"  Well  enough !  if  you  hadn't,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
talent  enough  to  be  prime  minister.  I  don't  understand 
shirking  responsibility ;  it's  not  what  I  should  have  expected 
from  you." 

"  Let  me  cut  the  wing  of  that  fowl  for  you,  sir,"  and 
Claude  tried  to  take  the  knife  out  of  the  Admiral's  unsteady 
hand.      But  it  was  held  firmly. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  not  going  to  be  balked  in  that  fashion. 
Speak  out  plainly  like  a  man." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  be  plain  to  others,  sir,  when  one  is  not 
yet  plain  to  oneself." 


ivors.  47 

"  High  time  you  should  be.  Five-and-twenty !  and  not 
know  your  own  mind.     For  shame  !  " 

"  I  say  for  shame  myself  very  often ;  but  I  have  a  ques 
tion  as  to  the  direction  and  ordering  of  circumstances." 

"  Mere  folly !     A  wise  man  makes  his  own  circumstan 
ces.     Besides,  don't  tell  me  that  you  don't  know  your  own 
mind.     There's  not  a  man  in  England  who  has  a  better 
judgment  or  a  stronger  will  of  his  own  than  my  friend 
Claude  Egerton." 

Claude  showed  no  elation  at  the  compliment.  He  poured 
out  the  Admiral's  wine,  and  then  sat  himself  down  by  his 
side,  and  said  gravely,  "  I  can  talk  to  you,  sir,  as  I  could 
not  talk  to  every  one.  Parliament  or  no  Parliament  is  not 
the  question  with  me.  I  only  want  to  see  where  God  has 
placed  my  duties." 

"  "Well,  yes  ;  we  understand  each  other  ;  "  and  the  Admi- 
ral put  his  large,  bony  hand  affectionately  upon  Claude's, 
and  then  drew  it  back  as  though  ashamed  of  the  weakness. 

"  There  was  a  maxim  vou  taught  me  vourself,  sir,  when 
I  was  a  boy,"  said  Claude,  "  Those  serve  their  country  best, 
who  serve  their  God  best." 

"  Very  likely,  very  likely.  What  has  that  to  do  with 
Parliament  ? " 

Claude  laughed.  "  A  good  deal  as  regards  myself.  If 
I  spend  my  money  in  contested  elections,  and  my  time  in 
making  bad  laws,  my  people  will  be  left  to  take  care  of 
themselves." 

"  Elections  needn't  always  be  contested,  and  laws  needn't 
always  be  bad,"  replied  the  Admiral;  "and  if  they  are,  no 
thanks  to  you  for  keeping  out  of  Parliament,  and  not  trying 
to  make  them  better.  No,  no,  Claude;  depend  upon  it,  a 
man- never  blunders  by  taking  ;i  huge  grasp  of  duties,  when 
Providence  pats  the  outward  means  of  performing  them  in 
his  power.     If  you  were  a  beggar,  I  wouldn't  say,  go  into 


48  ivors. 

Parliament;  and  if  you  were  an  idiot,  I  wouldn't  say  it 
either ;  but  being,  as  you  are,  a  young  fellow  with  a  fine  for- 
tune and  fine  talents,  I  say,  make  the  most  of  them." 

"  And  my  people  ?  " 

"  Your  people  %  Avhy,  they  won't  be  one  whit  worse  off, 
for  not  having  you  always  at  their  elbows  to  consult.  Hot 
bed  !  hot  bed !  It's  the  growing  evil  of  the  day.  Landlords, 
and  schoolmasters,  and  parents, — we  must  all  have  others 
hanging  upon  us,  living  upon  us.  We  have  no  notion  of 
teaching  people  to  stand  on  their  own  legs." 

"  Not  quite  the  general  opinon,  that,"  observed  Claude. 
"  The  complaint  one  most  often  hears  is  of  neglect." 

"  Past  neglect  if  you  will ;  and  present  too  amongst  a 
certain  set.  But  there's  an  astonishing  mania  abroad  for 
doing  good,  and  wonderfully  little  wisdom  in  setting  about 
it," 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right,  sir.  I  quite  feel  the  wonder- 
fully little  wisdom  I  have  myself." 

"  Of  course  you  do  ;  what  sensible  man  doesn't  ?  So 
much  the  more  reason  why  you  shouldn't  wish  to  have  a 
train  of  people  following  your  blunders." 

"  Still  I  must  be  answerable  for  the  tenants  on  my  own 
property." 

"  A  mother  is  answerable  for  her  children.  It  does  not 
follow  that  she  is  the  less  answerable  for  her  husband,  and 
her  friends,  and  her  acquaintances." 

"  It  is  very  difficult  to  classify  duties,"  observed  Claude. 

"  Not  at  all  difficult  to  common  sense,"  exclaimed  the 
Admiral.  "  If  Providence  had  willed  that  we  should  be 
only  fathers,  or  only  masters,  or  only  landlords,  or  onlv 
members  of  Parliament,  the  world  would  have  been  so  ar- 
ranged that  a  man  who  had  one  task  would  never  have  been 
called  upon  to  attend  to  another.  But  things  being  as  they 
arc,  and  life  having  many  claims,  why,  we  must  needs  attend 


IVOKS.  40 

to  them  all  as  best  we  can.  And  remember,  Claude,  one 
duty  helps  another.  The  man  who  undertakes  the  most, 
will  in  the  long  xun  do  the  best,  so  long  as  he  does  it  for  God." 

Claude  pondered. 

"  You  don't  own  it,"  continued  the  Admiral ;  "  you  will 
by-and-by." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  see  it,"  said  Claude. 

"  Try — that's  all  I  say ;  try.  Come  duties,  come  will. 
Loads  of  things  to  be  done  in  the  world ;  loads  of  power  to 
do  them  with  ;  that  is  God's  appointment.  It's  a  large  heart 
that's  wanted,  my  boy." 

"  And  so  J  go  to  Parliament,"  said  Claude,  doubtfully. 

"  And  so  you  go  to  Parliament,"  repeated  the  Admiral. 

"  And  as  a  preliminary  step,  dine  with  Sir  Henry  Clare, 
and  discuss  politics,"  continued  Claude. 

"Pshaw!  Sir  Henry  Clare  !  Your  opinion  now  is  worth 
twenty  of  his." 

"That  may  not  be  saying  much,"  replied  Claude,  smil- 
ing. "  Not  but  that  he  is  a  very  good-hearted,  worthy  man  ; 
only  one  would  not  quite  like  him  for  a  leader." 

•'  Better  he  than  Lady  Augusta.  Whatever  you  do,  my 
good  fellow,  don't  follow  her." 

"  I  can't  forget  old  times,"  said  Claude. 

"  The  hollowest-hearted  woman  in  Christendom !  "  ex- 
claimed the  Admiral;  "and  the  girl  is  built  upon  the  same 
plan." 

"  Helen  !  It  is  actually  two  years  since  I  have  seen  her. 
She  is  come  out  now,  I  suppose." 

"  Come  out — presented — grand  as  a  duchess.  Rushed 
through  London, — live  balls  a  night !  Down  again  into  the 
country, — brown  holland  and  sweet  simplicity  !     Faugh!  " 

Claude  laughed,  but  not  as  though  he  paid  much  atten- 
tion to  what  was  said.  He  repeated  again  to  himself,  "Ana 
so  I  go  to  Parliament." 


50  IVORS. 

The  Admiral  understood  liim.  "  What,  man  ?  Doubt- 
ful ?  " 

"  I  must  think.     You  know  I  always  required  that." 

"  Wilful,  as  usual.     Never  would  be  guided." 

"  Yes,  guided  ;  not  governed.     I  must  govern  myself." 

"  Be  quick  about  it  then." 

"  I  give  myself  two  days.     By  that  time  I  will  decide." 

"And  lose  your  chance  by  delay,"  was  the  Admiral's 
impatient  rejoinder.  "  Who  knows  that  Bamsay  is  not  va- 
cant at  this  moment  ?  " 

Claude  only  answered  by  a  smile  of  good-humoured  de- 
termination, which  in  boyhood  might  possibly  have  betokened 
obstinacy. 

The  Admiral  required  some  soothing  after  this  conversa- 
tion. He  loved  Claude  Egerton  as  his  own  child, — he  ad- 
mired and  respected  him ;  but  he  could  never  quite  make  up 
his  mind  that  he  was  not  to  govern  him.  The  man-of-war 
authority  to  which  he  had  so  long  been  accustomed,  was  a 
habit  of  mind  which  showed  itself  to  every  one ;  most  espe- 
cially to  persons  over  whom  he  had  once  exercised  it.  And 
Claude  often  deceived  him  unintentionally.  That  quiet,  con- 
siderate, deferential  manner  of  his,  seemed  so  very  like  ac- 
quiescence. The  Admiral  had  often  talked  with  him  for 
hours,  laying  down  the  law,  and  arguing  under  the  fullest 
belief  that  he  was  gaining  the  day,  and  at  the  end  found  that 
he  had  arrived  no  further  than  what  to  him  was  the  very  un- 
satisfactory conclusion,  "  I  will  think." 

They  might  perhaps  have  quarrelled,  had  not  the  Admiral 
generally  found  that  Claude  ultimately  reached  the  same  point 
with  himself,  and  acknowledged  frankly  and  courteously,  that 
his  opinion  had  assisted  him  in  gaining  it.  Such  a  concession 
was  perhaps  a  greater  triumph  in  the  end,  than  a  more  hasty 
victory ;  but  the  delay  was  unquestionably  a  trial  at  the 
time.     The  Admiral  did  not  care  for  influence,  but  he  dearly 


ivoes.  5  L 

loved  obedience,  for  he  had  been  accustomed  to  it  all  his  life. 
And  Claude  Egerton  was  a  person  of  singular  independence 
of  character,  cautious,  and  conscientious.  It  was  an  actual 
impossibility  to  him  to  yield  without  conviction,  or  to  be  con- 
vinced without  reason  and  thought  from  the  working  of  his 
own  mind.  This  parliamentary  question  had  been  brought 
foward  two  years  before,  just  previous  to  his  going  abroad. 
The  Admiral  had  urged  his  wish  then  with  all  the  vehemence 
and  eloquence  he  could  command,  and  an  amount  of  praise 
of  Claude's  talents,  which  would  have  been  flattery  from  any 
other  lips,  but  which  from  his  was  merely  the  outpouring  of 
a  genuine,  hearty  appreciation  that  could  not  be  restrained. 
Claude  was  not  injured  by  this.  At  the  very  outset  of  life, 
whilst  yet  comparatively  a  boy,  he  had  carefully  and  dispas- 
sionately weighed  his  own  powers,  his  advantages,  and  the 
temptations  incident  to  his  natural  charater.  He  had  high 
aims,  and  he  was  anxious  to  know  how  far  he  might  hope  to 
attain  them :  and  the  very  justice  of  his  self-appreciation 
kept  him  from  the  snare  of  vanity.  Knowing  well  what  he 
could  do,  he  was  not  to  be  deceived  as  to  what  he  could  not 
do.  Eloquent  he  would  never  be  ;  popular  he  was  not  likely 
to  be.  A  public  leader  he  might  possibly  become  under  pe- 
culiar circumstances,  but  they  were  such  as  were  not  likely 
to  arise.  There  was  no  very  tempting  opening  for  him  in 
the  path  of  worldly  ambition,  in  spite  of  all  that  the  Admi- 
ral might  say.  But  Claude  Egerton's  aims  were  not  world- 
ly ;  and  the  knowledge  that  he  might  probably  labour  for  a 
life,  and  leave  a  name  which  should  never  go  do  down  to 
posterity,  except  as  one  amongst  the  insignificant  thousands 
who  have  worked  for  their  fellow-creatures,  and  received  their 
reward  from  Cod,  had  no  influence  upon  his  energy. 

Politics  had,  however,  been  put  aside  when  first  suggest- 
ed, because  Claude  felt  his  own  ignorance  upon  many  points 
which  he  knew  to  be  essential  to  a  legislator.     Now  it  ap- 


52  ivors. 


peared  to  liim  under  a  different  form.  He  had  travelled,  and 
thought,  and  read ;  and  although  the  duties  which  a  seat  in 
Parliament  involved  were  not  alluring  to  his  taste,  he  no 
longer  felt  that  they  were  heyond  his  powers. 

His  mind  was  almost  made  up  when  he  hegan  his  con- 
versation with  the  Admiral ; — perhaps  it  might  have  heen 
well  if  he  had  given  the  old  man  an  intimation  of  the  fact 
before  leaving  him.  He  would  have  spared  him  a  half-hour 
of  irritation,  and  prepared  a  more  cheerful  welcome  for  Mrs. 
Graham,  Susan  and  Isabella,  when  they  made  their  appear- 
ance in  the  library.  The  Admiral  was  not  cross  with  his 
favourites  ;  he  was  only  mournful ;  and  it  was  in  a  most  dol- 
orous key  that  he  began, — 

"  So  you're  come  at  last.  I  thought  I  never  Avas  to  see 
you  again.  I  thought  you  must  all  be  ill.  Susan,  you've 
lost  all  your  good  looks." 

"  That  supposes  I  had  some  to  lose,"  replied  Susan, 
laughing  ;  "  so  I  must  be  grateful  for  the  compliment." 

"Young  people  always  have  good  looks  to  lose.  It's  only 
we  old  folks  who  can  afford  to  be  seen  at  all  times.  I  don't 
mean  you,  Frances," — and  he  turned  hastily  to  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  You  are  ten  years  younger  than  any  of  your 
daughters." 

"  Tell-tale  grey  hairs  I  am  afraid  are  against  you,  my 
dear  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Even  my  children  are  be- 
ginning to  own  that  I  am  silvery.  But  we  are  all  going  to 
be  young  and  gay  to-morrow,  I  hear,  and  dine  at  Ivors." 

"  You  are  going,  are  you  %  "    His  face  brightened  directly. 

"  We  had  an  invitation  from  Lady  Augusta,  just  now, 
and  we  thought  of  accepting  it." 

"  Clever  old  woman !  she  knows  how  to  tempt  me.  I 
vow,  Frances,  if  I  hadn't  the  hope  of  meeting  some  one 
better  worth  speaking  to  than  she  is,  I  never  would  set  foo\, 
in  Ivors  again." 


,,  ivoks.  53 

"  There  is  always  Sir  Henry,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Well  enough,  if  one  gets  him  in  the  humour ;  but  he  is 
not  half  the  man  he  was :  she  cows  him.  And  now  the  girl 
is  out,  as  they  call  it " 

Susan  interrupted  him.  "  Helen  ?  0  please  not !  Helen 
is  charming." 

The  Admiral  turned  round  sharply ;  but  he  could  not 
speak  sharply.  The  little  face  once  seen  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  close  cottage  bonnet  might  have  altered  in  many 
ways ;  but  its  expression  was  the  same  now  as  it  had  been 
eight  years  before. 

"  My  child,  don't  trust  her,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  Don't 
trust  anything  that  has  been  educated  by  Lady  Augusta 
Clare." 

"  That  would  be  the  only  reason  for  distrusting  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham.     "  There  is  nothing  insincere  in  Helen  her 
self:  she  comes  of  a  different  stock." 

"  Grafted  on  a  crab,"  said  the  Admiral. 

"•And  so  likely  to  turn  out  all  the  better  according  to 
the  analogy,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 

The  Admiral  looked  annoyed.  "  It's  the  thing  you  are 
always  tiresome  about,  Frances, — you  and  Claude  Egerton. 
By-the-by,  where  is  the  boy1?  It's  a  shame  he  doesn't  come 
in  to  see  you." 

"  He  was  walking  by  the  avenue  to  the  stables  as  we 
came  up,"  said  Isabella.     "  I  think  he  saw  us." 

"  I  think  he  didn't,  Miss  Isabella ;  he  knows  his  duty  to 
old  friends  too  well.  Susan,  my  dear,  may  I  ask  you  to  ring 
that  bell  \ — ring  it  hard,  twice." 

Susan  rang  as  desired.     The  servant  entered. 

"Barnes,  where's  Mr.  Egerton?" 

"He  went  down  by  the  farm,  sir; — lie  was  looking  at 
the  new  road." 

"Tell   him  to  come   in, — 1  want  him."     Then  seeing  a 


54  IVOKS. 

smile  pass  over  Mrs.  Graham's  face,  the  Admiral  added, 
'•  Tell  him  Mrs.  Graham  is  here,  and  the  young  ladies."  As 
the  last  words  were  spoken,  his  eye  rested  on  Susan. 

Notwithstanding  his  first  querulous  assertion,  Susan  had 
certainly  not  lost  her  good  looks,  or,  if  she  had  parted  with 
some,  there  were  enough  remaining  to  make  a  very  pleasant 
face. 

It  was  the  expression  more  than  the  features  i>r  the  com- 
plexion, however,  which  was  agreeahle ;  for  Susan  Graham 
had  hy  no  means  a  claim  to  be  called  beautiful,  or  even 
pretty.  She  had  bright  intelligent  eyes ;  but  the  outline  of 
her  face  was  rather  square,  and  her  mouth,  though  well 
formed,  was  too  large  for  symmetry.  She  was  deficient  in 
animation  also,  except,  which  was  rarely  the  case,  when  ex- 
cited by  some  subject  of  peculiar  interest.  Generally  the 
world,  as  the  saying  is,  went  quietly  with  her.  Common 
acquaintances  called  her  amiable  ;  more  intimate  friends  said 
she  was  superior :  only  her  mother  knew  her  as  she  really 
was.  Yet  she  could  scarely  have  passed  unnoticed  as  she  sat 
that  day  by  the  Admiral's  easy  chair,  resting  her  hand  upon 
the  arm,  and  looking  upon  the  ground  thoughtfully.  Good- 
ness was  in  her  face,  repose  in  her  figure  and  attitude,  with 
that  utter  absence  of  pretence  and  self-consciousness  which  is 
the  characteristic  of  a  really  refined  mind 

The  Admiral  must  have  seen  much  in  her  to  engage  his 
interest ;  for  he  gazed  at  her  intently  for  some  moments,  and 
then  patted  her  hand ;  and  when,  a  little  startled,  she  looked 
at  him  with  a  smile  of  innocent  good  humour,  he  averted  his 
face  and  dashed  his  fingers  across  his  eyes,  as  he  exclaimed, 
"  That  fellow  Claude  !  why,  on  earth,  doesn't  he  come  ?  " 

"  Coming,  sir,"  said  a  laughing  voice  ;  and  Claude  Eger- 
ton  entered  through  the  window. 

He  went  up  to  Mrs.  Graham  directly,  full  of  gratitude 
for  having  been  summoned.  He  had  not  seen  them  from  the 
avenue,  and  would  have  been  really  sorry  to  miss  them. 


IVORS. 


55 


"Didn't  I  say  so,  Miss  Isabella?"  inquired  the  Admiral, 
in  triumph. 

Claude  spoke  hastily :  "  "Was  there  any  doubt  upon  the 
subject,  sir  ?     I  hoped  I  had  credit  for  better  taste." 

"  We  are  morning  visitors,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham  ;  "  we 
know  what  we  have  to  expect." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  look  upon  you  as  morning  visitors. 
You  were  not  that  when  I  went  away." 

"You  have  been  gone  two  years,"  said  Mrs.  Graham; 
"and  you Jiave  been  travelling.  Who  could  answer  for  the 
change  that  might  make?  You  might  have  returned  with  a 
fez  and  a  long  beard  for  aught  we  knew." 

"And  you  think  two  years  so  long  that  one  must  be 
changed,  do  you?"   inquired  Claude,  rather  reproachfully. 

"  It's  not  much  short  of  an  inch  in  a  man's  nose  to  such 
a  young  fellow  as  you,"  exclaimed  the  Admiral.  Why,  in 
two  years,  at  vour  acre,  Claude,  a  man  in  mv  days  might  have 
had  changes  of  friends  for  every  month  in  the  year,  fought 
duels  by  the  dozen,  broken  his  heart  tAventy  times,  and  had 
it  mended  again  as  often.  Two  years  was  a  lifetime  then, 
by  the  deeds  a  fellow  put  into  them.  But  you  young  ones 
are  so  slow ;  when  you  reach  what  you  want,  you  can't  sum- 
mon ener<rv  to  stretch  out  your  hand  to  take  it.  What  do 
you  say,  Susan,  my  dear?" 

Susan  started  and  blushed.  She  had  not  quite  been  lis- 
tening, and  she  said  so. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  then.  They  must  have 
been  worth  that  at  least." 

Claude  regarded  her  with  amusement,  and,  perhaps,  a 
little  pity.     He  thought  she  would  be  shy. 

But  Susan  was  quiet  only,  not  shy.  She  never  thought 
about  herself,  or  about  any  one  else,  in  a  way  to  make  her 
shy  ;  and  she  said  at  once,  "I  was  thinking  of  Helen." 

"You  might  have  been  thinking  of  something  better, 
then,"  muttered  the  Admiral. 


5G  ivoes. 

Cut  Claude  caught  up  the  words,  and  repeated,  "  Helen  % 
Miss  Clare  do  you  mean  %  " 

"Yes,  she  is  my  only  Helen.     The  only  one  I  know." 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  yet,"  said  Claude,  carelessly  ;  "  I 
suppose  she  is  a  good  deal  altered.  She  was  rather  pretty 
when  I  went  away." 

"Pretty!  she  is  lovely,"  and  Susan's  eyes  sparkled  with 
eagerness  ;  "  every  one  says  she  is." 

"  I  never  care  for  professed  beauty,"  said  Claude. 

"  Helen  is  no  professed  heauty,"  observed  Susan,  coldly, 
and  rather  proudly.     "  She  professes  nothing." 

"  Take  care,  Claude,"  exclaimed  the  Admiral :  "  you  are 
on  unsafe  ground." 

Claude  made  a  mock  bow  of  apology.  "  I  beg  pardon,  I 
ought  to  have  known  that  young  ladies'  friendships  are  sacred." 

Susan  was  silent,  but  the  crimson  colour  flushed  to  her 
temples. 

Claude  addressed  himself  to  Mrs.  Graham.  He  inquired 
after  old  friends,  spoke  of  his  own  travels,  discussed  a  new 
book,  all  with  considerable  eagerness ;  but  from  time  to  time 
he  glanced  at  Susan,  who  still  remained  silent,  even  when 
Isabella  ventured  to  join  in  the  conversation. 

It  might  have  appeared  like  temper  in  any  one  else ;  but 
no  one  could  suspect  Susan  Graham  of  ill  humour. 

Claude  gave  up  trying  to  understand  what  seemed  to-  him 
a  mood ;  but  his  kind-heartedness  made  him  reproach  him- 
self for  having  unintentionally  caused  it. 

The  conversation  lasted  long ;  and  then  the  Admiral  said 
he  would  go  out,  and  by  the  help  of  a  stick,  and  Claude 
Egerton's  arm,  he  went  quite  round  the  shrubbery,  and  in 
sight  of  a  new  plantation  ;  and  talking  to  Mrs.  Graham,  and 
laying  down  the  law  every  now  and  then  to  Claude,  he  man- 
aged to  forget  his  querulousness,  and  even  to  hear  Lady  Au- 
gusta's name  mentioned  with  placidity. 


Ivors.  57 

"  Since  one  must  go,  it's  best  to  go  when  one  may  find 
persons  fit  to  talk  to,"  he  said,  as  Mrs.  Graham  stood,  wish- 
ing him  good  bye,  and  reminding  him  that  they  might  hope 
to  meet  at  Ivors  the  following  day.  "Not  but  what  I  be- 
lieve she  asks  you,  Frances,  because  you  are  the  only  crea- 
ture within  twenty  miles  who  would  bear  being  bored  with 
a  gouty  old  man." 

"  We  won't  inquire  into  the  cause,  so  long  as  it  gives  us 
pleasure,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

The" Admiral  smiled,  but  doubtfully.  "You  are  no  bet- 
ter than  the  rest  of  the  world,  Frances.  Where  is  the  plea- 
sure of  seeing  me  ?  Better  look  at  me  there,"  and  he  pointed 
to  a  large  portrait  of  himself,  taken  when  he  was  about 
eight-and-twenty.     "  I  was  worth  something  then." 

"  To  those  who  knew  you  then,  dear  sir  ;  we  would  rather 
have  you  now." 

'•  Yes,"  said  Susan,  heartily. 

The  word  escaped  so  simply,  yet  so  abruptly,  that  every 
one  laughed,  except  Susan  herself. 

"You  will  know  where  to  look  for  a  compliment,  sir," 
observed  Claude,  addressing  the  Admiral. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Susan,  quickly. 

"  Of  course  it  is,  if  she  says  it,"  exclaimed  the  Admiral, 
drawing  Susan  towards  him,  and  patting  her  on  the  shoulder. 
"  She  is  true  to  the  back-bone."  Then  making  her  look 
towards  him,  he  kissed  her  heartily  on  both  cheeks,  adding, 
"God  bless  you,  child,  and  thank  you;  yon  will  never  be 
the  worse  for  an  old  man's  gratitude." 

Susan  smiled.  Some  people  might  have  thought  she  did 
not  care,  for  she  was  the  first  to  walk  out  of  the  room.  No 
one  noticed  her  as  she  stood  at  the  hall  door,  trying  to  keep 
down  some  rising  feeling  which  would  struggle  to  have  vent. 

Claude  Egerton  walked  with  them  through  the  shrub- 
bery,   lie  talked  almost  entirely  to  Mrs.  Graham;  but  before 


5S  IVORS. 

(Ley  parted,  he  said  to  Susan,  "  I  annoyed  you  just  now,  Miss 
Graham  ;  you  thought  me  sarcastic.  I  did  not  intend  to  be 
so  ;  I  am  very  sorry." 

It  was  a  thoroughly  humble  tone,  so  humble  that  it 
struck  Susan  with  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  She  laughed 
heartily.  "  Really,  I  had  almost  forgotten  ;  only  I  don't  like 
being  accused  of  a  young  lady's  friendship.  But  pray  don't 
distress  yourself,  Mr.  Egerton ;  it  does  not  in  the  least  sig- 
nify. And  Helen  and  I,  you  know,  are  young  ladies.  It 
does  not  in  the  least  signify,"  she  repeated;  and  Claude 
shook  hands,  and  they  parted. 

Perhaps  he  would  have  been  better  pleased  if  it  had  sig- 
nified. Even  the  best  of  us  do  not  like  to  have  our  words 
put  aside  as  of  no  consequence. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Lady  Augusta  was  in  the  drawing  luuin.  It  wanted  about 
u  quarter  of  an  hour  to  dinner.  The  few  guests  staying  in 
I  lie  house  were  gone  to  dress.  Lady  Augusta  herself  had 
been  ready  some  time.  The  Admiral  was  always  early,  and 
would  have  considered  it  an  affront  if  she  had  not  been  there 
to  receive  him.  Lady  Augusta  was  a  different  person  in  the 
different  rooms  of  her  house ;  a  great  many  of  us  are.  She 
was  busy  and  important,  devoted  to  education,  morals,  and 
politics,  in  her  library,  stately  and  artistic  in  her  drawing- 
loom.  She  had  a  quick  eye  for  order  and  beauty  of  every 
kind,  knew  exactly  where  each  chair  and  table  should  be 
placed,  and  could  tell  the  precise  position  in  which  her  lovely 
little  Italian  statuettes  ought  to  stand,  so  as  to  group  well 
with  the  flower  vases  and  Dresden  china.  Though  the  room 
looked  perfect  to  other  eyes,  it  was  never  so  to  her  own  ;  and 


IV0E8. 


59 


even  now  she  walked  round,  changing  various  ornaments, 
and  bringing  out  ottomans  and  easy  chairs,  so  as  to  arrange 
her  guests  easily  <ind  without  formality,  and  save  them  from 
the  restraint  of  a  circle. 

All  this  was  not  love  of  display.  Lady  Augusta  was 
above  the  vulgar  pretension  of  a  large  house  and  handsome 
furniture,  as  she  was  above  that  of  rank.  She  was  born  to 
the  possession  of  both ;  and  being  natural  to  her,  they  were 
enjoyed  for  themselves,  not  in  the  way  of  comparison  with 
others.  Yet  they  were  enjoyed,  and  so  as  to  render  her  mor- 
bidly fastidious  as  to  anything  which  offended  her  taste  or 
her  exclusiveness.  Gaudy  colouring,  absence  of  symmetry 
and  arrangement  in  furniture,  jarred  upon  her  in  the  same 
wav  as  a  vulgar  accent  or  a  showy  dress.  She  had  no  desire 
to  be  told  that  her  house  was  magnificent,  and  cared  little 
whether  the  ornaments  she  placed  in  it  cost  five  pounds  or 
fifty ;  but  she  did  unquestionably  pique  herself  upon  her  good 
taste,  and  delighted  in  the  admiration  of  the  few  whose  opin- 
ion she  valued,  as  much  as  persons  whose  pretension  she 
wo'dd  have  despised  delighted  in  that  of  the  many. 

Lady  Augusta  put  the  finishing  touch  to  her  work,  by 
placing  a  very  exquisite  carving  of  the  Holy  Family,  so  as  to 
appear  grouped  by  accident  with  a  marble  cross  and  some 
rare  flowers,  and  after  casting  around  a  glance  of  satisfac- 
tion, took  up  a  book.  Drawing-room  books  were  of  course 
different  from  library  books;  but  they  were  all  of  the  same 
cast :  not  novels — Lady  Augusta  professed  to  have  no  taste 
for  novels — but  volumes  of  the  standard  poets — works  on 
painting,  "Southey's  Colloquies,"  and  "Bacon's  Essays," 
lives  of  celebrated  people — George  Herbert,  and  Nicholas 
Ferrar ;  all  handsome  books,  well  got  up,  and  lying  about  as 
if  they  were  the  natural  growth  of  the  house.  Lady  Au- 
gusta devoted  herself  to  Nicholas  Ferrar  now — why,  perhaps, 
could  scarcely  be  told,  unless  it  might  have  been  to  contrast 


CO  IVOKS. 

the  troublesome  self-denial  of  Little  Giclding  -with  the  com 
fortable  goodness  of  Ivors. 

The  ante-room  door  opened,  and  Lady  Augusta  laid 
down  her  hook,  rose,  and  advanced  a  few  steps. 

A  rush  into  the  room,  and  a  sudden  retreat !  and  Lady 
Augusta  exclaimed,  "Helen,  is  that  you?" 

A  pause  ;  the  question  was  repeated. 

"  Y'es,  only  myself ;  no  one  else,  mamma;"  and  Helen 
retreated  still  further  into  the  background. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  child?  What  are  you  looking  for? 
come  here ! "  Helen  could  keep  in  retirement  no  longer, 
and  she  came  forward  in  her  riding  habit,  her  cap  oft",  flushed 
and  hurried,  yet,  as  Susan  Graham  had  said,  lovely.  Xot 
only  in  features,  but  in  expression,  in  grace,  in  animation 
and  refinement  lay  Helen  Clare's  claim  to  beauty.  Other 
faces  might  by  possibility  be  more  strictly  and  classically 
perfect ;  but  where  else  were  to  be  found  the  brilliant  com- 
plexion, the  full,  lustrous  eye,  with  its  wonderful  quickness, 
and  softness,  and  depth,  the  mouth  half  proud,  half  good- 
humoured,  or  the  varied  changes  which  followed  each  other 
like  April  rain  ind  sunshine,  never  allowing  one  to  feel  se- 
cure of  the  present  charm,  yet  making  it  doubtful  whether 
each  successive  expression  were  not  more  captivating  than 
the  last  ? 

If  Lady  Augusta  flattered  herself  that  education  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  Helen's  personal  appearance,  she  had  in- 
deed reason  to  be  satisfied. 

But  she  was  very  dissatisfied  now,  and  with  reason.  She 
said  nothing,  but  pointed  to  the  timepiece. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  see.  Ten  minutes  will  be  quite  suffi- 
cient." Helen  lost  something  of  her  charm  when  she  spoke, 
though  her  voice  was  musical  in  its  sweetness.  If  there 
were  not  temper  in  the  background,  there  was  at  least  an 
indifference,  an  umvillingness  to  own  herself  wrong,  which 
was  very  like  it. 


ivoits.  61 

"  My  dear,  ten  minutes  will  not  be  sufficient.  I  informed 
you  that  I  wished  you  to  be  in  the  drawing-room  when  the 
Admiral  arrived." 

"  Dear  old  Admiral !  he  won't  care  ;  Annette  won't  be  a 
minute  in  dressing  me ;  and  I  really  could  not  help  it  :  I 
went  so  much  farther  than  I  intended." 

"  There  is  a  ring  at  the  bell,"  observed  Lady  Augusta. 

"  He  will  be  an  hour  taking  off  his  coat,"  said  Helen, 
still  lingering. 

Lady  Augusta  sat  clown,  severe  and  dignified.  Helen 
was  going  away.  "You  can't  go,  Helen,  now7;  you  will 
meet  the  Admiral  in  the  hall,  and  Mr.  Egerton." 

"  0  !  Claude  ;  then  it  does  not  at  all  signify.  He  will 
quite  understand.  We  always  used  to  be  late  when  we  went 
out  riding  together." 

"  So  negligent !  so  untidy !  "  said  Lady  Augusta,  her  eye 
taking  in  at  one  glance  all  the  defects  of  Helen's  dress. 

Helen  blushed,  arranged  her  collar,  and  smoothed  her 
hair  with  her  hand.  "  I  am  very  untidy,  I  am  afraid ;  I 
don' v.  like  that ;  perhaps  he  won't  see  me."  And  she  drew 
back  behind  the  folding  door,  and,  just  as  Claude  Egerton 
entered  from  ths  ante-room  into  the  drawing-room,  glided 
past  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  Admiral. 

If  it  had  been  Susan,  he  would  have  laughed;  being 
Helen,  he  only  said  in  a  very  grumpy  tone,  "Late  for  din- 
ner, I  suppose,  young  lady." 

Helen  did  not  see  Claude  Egerton  turn  from  Lady  Au- 
gusta to  look  at  her;  but  she  felt  that  he  did,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  rumpled  collar  and  the  disordered  hair  was 
very  confusing,  notwithstanding  her  professions  that  with 
him  it  did  not  signify.  Yet  she  recovered  herself,  and  with 
very  graceful  self-possession,  apologised  heartily,  owned  that 
she  had  been  careless  about  the  time,  begged  the  Admiral  to 
excuse  her,  and  hoped  not  to  detain   the  dinner,  and  then 


G2  ivors. 

with  simple  case  of  manner  shook  hands  with  Claude,  and 
told  him  she  was  very  glad  to  see  him  at  Ivors  again,  and 
left  the  room. 

"  Hollow-hearted  as  Lady  Augusta,"  came  to  Claude's 
recollection.  He  would  not  even  own  to  himself  that  she 
was  beautiful. 

The  room  soon  became  full.  Sir  John  Hume,  one  of  the 
members  for  the  county  and  his  wife,  and  twTo  daughters, 
were  all  staying  in  the  house,  together  with  Captain  Mor- 
daunt,  one  of  Lady  Augusta's  many  cousins,  and  old  Lord 
Warnford,  whom  the  Admiral  had  been  especially  invited  to 
meet,  but  who  appeared  to  have  nothing  particular  to  say  to 
him.  The  Admiral's  good-humour  was  not  increased  by  the 
non-arrival  of  Mrs.  Graham.  Lady  Augusta  devoted  herself 
to  telling  him  the  history  of  a  great  political  meeting  which 
Sir  Henry  had  that  day  attended  in  Wingfield,  and  which 
had  detained  him  so  long  that  he  had  only  returned  about 
half  an  hour  before  dinner  ;  but  her  eloquence  was  lost  upon 
the  old  man,  who  looked  round  every  time  the  door  opened, 
much  to  Lady  Augusta's  annoyance,  and  was  continually 
murmuring  to  himself,  "  She's  not  used  to  be  late." 

"  Helen  are  you  speaking  of,  my  dear  Admiral  ?  "  said 
Lady  Augusta,  catching  his  words.  "I  am  afraid  she  is 
rather  unpunctual.  Claude  will  remember  " — she  addressed 
Mr.  Egerton  so  directly  that  he  could  not  but  give  her  his 
full  attention: — "We  were  speaking  of  Helen's  unpunctual- 
ity.  You  must  remember  it,  I  am  afraid,  from  unhappy  ex- 
perience. Poor  child !  she  was  talking  to  me  just  now  of  the 
pleasant  rides  you  used  to  have  together." 

Claude  was  politely  interested  in  the  subject ;  but  he  did 
not  retain  any  particular  remembrance  of  his  rides  with 
Helen,  and  could  only  say  that  he  believed  she  was  a  very 
bold  rider. 

"  0  !  sadly,  desperately  bold  !     It  quite  shakes  my  nerves 


I  FOES.  63 

when  I  know  she  is  going  out.  But  there  are  so  few  one  can 
trust  her  with ;  and  a  servant  is  really  no  protection.  Mau- 
rice is  to  be  here  the  day  after  to-morrow ;  and  then  no 
doubt  they  will  ride  constantly." 

"  Come  at  last !  "  The  Admiral  half  rose  from  his  seat. 
"  I  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon  ;  but  I  thought  Frances  Gra- 
ham meant  to  play  me  a  trick." 

"  She  is  late,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  glancing  at  the  clock  ; 
and  with  a  stateliness  which  did  more  than  justice  to  her 
height,  she  .walked  down  the  room  to  meet  Mrs.  Graham  and 
Susan. 

Mrs.  Graham  saw  no  occasion  for  an  apology.  She  was, 
strictly  speaking,  in  time ;  and  she  never  unnecessarily  gave 
Lady  Augusta  the  opportunity  of  forgiving  her.  Neither 
was  she  in  the  least  chilled  or  awed  by  the  ceremonious  po- 
liteness which  insisted  upon  placing  her  on  the  sofa,  at  the 
farthest  possible  distance  from  every  one  else,  and  left  Susan 
in  the  chair  next  to  Lord  Warnford,  to  make  herself  as 
agreeable  as  a  young  girl  of  nineteen  possibly  could  to  a 
deaf  octogenarian.  A  few  answers  were  made  to  the  icy 
observations  of  her  hostess ;  and  then,  by  some  means  most 
provoking  to  Lady  Augusta,  Mrs.  Graham  contrived  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  Sir  Henry,  and  interest  Sir  John  Hume, 
and  even  excited  a  laugh  from  very  dull  Lady  Hume  ;  and  the 
room  which  had  before  been  filled  with  solemn  murmurs,  and 
shadowy  smiles,  caught  the  circling  wave  of  ease  and  cheer- 
fulness, till  Susan  took  courage  to  make  her  voice  heard, 
and,  giving  up  Lord  Warnford  as  hopeless,  inquired  of 
Claude  Egerton,  who  was  standing  near  her,  whether  he 
had  yet  seen  Helen. 

"For  a  moment;  she  came  in  late  from  riding.  I  had 
scarcely  time  to  speak  to  her." 

His  tone  of  indifference  was  provoking  to  Susan,  who 
had  rather  looked  forward  to  the  admiration  which  she  felt 


G-t  IVORS. 

certain  Helen  would  excite.  She  thought  Claude  perverse, 
and  was  disinclined  to  pursue  the  conversation.  She  was 
forced  to  do  so,  however;  for,  in  his  innocence  of  the  offence 
he  had  given,  he  went  on  talking,  not  about  Helen,  but  about 
the  Admiral's  godson,  her  brother  Charles,  and  this  being  a 
most  engrossing  subject,  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  throwing 
herself  into  it. 

Impatience  at  the  delay  of  dinner  was  by  this  time  mani- 
festing itself.  The  Admiral  tapped  the  table  Avith  his 
fingers,  Sir  Henry  looked  at  Lady  Augusta,  and  asked  if  it 
were  worth  while  to  wait  for  Helen. 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  the  decided  answer ;  and  the  bell 
was  rung.  Sir  Henry  was  evidently  annoyed ;  and  Lady 
Augusta  looked  more  than  congealed  in  her  frigid  severity. 

"  Here  she  is !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  bursting  into  the  mid- 
dle of  a  sentence  begun  by  Mr.  Egerton,  and  then  .begging 
him  to  excuse  her. 

Claude  turned  slowly  round,  as,  timidly,  and  with  a  blush 
crimsoning  her  cheek,  Helen  entered  from  the  ante-room, 
dressed  according  to  what  the  Admiral  would  have  called 
sweet  simplicity,  in  white  muslin,  and  with  no  ornament 
except  a  pearl  spray  in  her  hair. 

Claude  glanced  at  her,  continued  his  remark  to  Susan, 
blundered,  apologised,  and  looked  again, — and  at  last  fairly 
broke  off  the  conversation  to  watch  Helen,  who  had  by  this 
time  made  her  way  to  Mrs.  Graham,  and  was  talking  to  her. 

"  I  must  go  to  her,"  said  Susan  ;  and  she  rose  and  crossed 
the  room. 

And  Claude  stood  silent  till  dinner  was  announced,  and 
then,  as  a  matter  of  course,  offered  his  arm  to  Susan. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  dinner  to  Susan.  Mr.  Egerton 
made  himself  even  more  agreeable  than  she  had  anticipated; 
and  she  could  forgive  him  his  first  tone  of  indifference  when 
she  saw  how  often  his  eye  wandered  to  the  lower  end  of  the 


IYORS.  65 

table,  where  Helen,  out  of  the  reach  of  Lady  Augusta's  sur- 
veillance, and  feeling  quite  at  ease  with  her  father,  was  talk- 
ing merrily  to  Captain  Mordaunt. 

She  felt  sure  that  he  was  converted,  though  he  might  be 
too  proud  to  own  it.  It  would  indeed  have  been  a  marvel- 
lous stoicism  which  could  resist  the  attraction  of  Helen's  face 
when  animated  by  conversation.  Such  winning  variety  and 
intelligence  were  to  be  seen  in  every  look  and  gesture,  tem- 
pered by  an  innate,  simple  dignity,  that  put  aside  all  notion 
of  wishing-to  attract  attention !  It  was  a  dangerous  vicinity 
for  the  young  guardsman ;  and  Claude  Egerton  smiled  to 
himself  as  he  saw  the  evident  admiration  which  Helen  was 
exciting,  whilst  the  conversation  on  her  part  was  carried  on 
as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  talking  to  her  brother. 

"Hollow-hearted!"  thought  Claude,  "what  a  pity!" 
and  he  addressed  himself  to  Susan  with  renewed  pleasure 
from  the  supposed  contrast. 

The  ladies  sat  but  a  short  time  after  dinner ;  yet  Lady 
Augusta  had  cast  many  uneasy  glances  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  table  before  she  ventured  to  make  the  move.  It  was  con- 
trary to  her  tactics  that  Helen  should  be  so  far  removed  from 
her,  and  so  much  at  ease  with  her  neighbour ;  and  she  did 
not  thorou<rhlv  like  the  low  and  rather  confidential  tone 
which  was  springing  up  between  Claude  and  Susan.-  It  was 
an  absurdity  to  suppose  there  could  be  anything  in  it ;  Susan 
was  so  very  commonplace,  and  Claude  was  fastidious  to  a 
fault ;  but  then  men  were  so  foolish !  And  Lady  Augusta, 
with  habitual  caution,  broke  up  the  party  and  went  to  the 
drawing-room. 

The  wearisome  hour  after  dinner,  the  attempts  at  conver- 
s.ifioti,  happily  diverted  by  the  entrance  of  coffee,  the  stitt 
circle  which  will  form  itself,  in  spite  of  all  efforts,  the  cere- 
monious politeness  of  old  ladies,  and  the  spasmodic  al tempts 
at  mirth  of  young  ones,  no  one  need  describe.     They  are 


GO  IVOKS. 

parts  of  the  unhappy  experience  of  all  diners-out.  Lady 
Augusta  was  proverbially  solemn  on  these  occasions,  and 
even  Mrs.  Graham's  ease  failed  to  infect  the  ladies  as  it  had 
the  gentlemen.  Every  one  seemed  afraid  of  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice,  whilst  discoursing  upon  the  uninteresting 
affairs  of  the  world  in  general,  or  murmuring  trite  observa- 
tions over  books  of  engravings.  The  gossiping  trifles  of  the 
neighbourhood  were  scarcely  mentioned.  They  awoke  no 
interest  at  Ivors.  Except  Mrs.  Graham  and  Susan,  no  one 
cared  for  any  person  out  of  the  Clare  set ;  and  the  mention 
of  other  individuals  was  received  with  a  careless  "  Oh !  we 
don't  know  them,"  which  effectually  put  an  end  to  the  sub- 
ject. Alone  with  Helen,  Susan  would  have  been  quite  hap- 
py ;  but  in  the  drawing-room,  with  Lady  Augusta's  eye  upon 
her,  Helen  was  a  very  different  person  from  what  she  was  in 
the  dining-room.  Cold,  indifferent,  almost  supercilious,  she 
sat  apart,  languidly  turning  over  a  book  of  prints  for  the 
benefit  of  Miss  Hume,  with  an  air  which  plainly  said,  "  I  do 
it  because  I  cannot  help  myself;  "  whilst  Miss  Hume,  being 
shy  and  very  much  afraid  of  the  surprisingly  beautiful  and 
accomplished  Miss  Clare,  who  had  been  brought  up  on  such 
a  superior  system,  was  naturally  enough  awed  into  dulness, 
and  could  remember  no  words  in  her  native  tongue,  but 
"yes,  very  pretty,"  until  Helen,  in  despair,  relinquished  the 
prin':s,  and  gave  herself  up  to  reverie. 

The  entrance  of  the  gentlemen  had  no  effect  upon  her ; 
her  spirits  were  gone,  and  she  saw  no  reason  for  exerting 
herself  against  her  inclination. 

Captain  Mordaunt,  full  of  the  pleasant  consciousness  of 
having  made  an  agreeable  impression,  came  up  to  her,  but 
received  only  the  answer  which  actual  civility  demanded, 
and  retired,  disconcerted.  Lady  Augusta  called  her  atten- 
tion to  something  which  Sir  John  Hume  was  saying,  and 
II"! en  bent  forward,   and  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then 


IVOES. 


67 


sank  back  languidly  in  her  chair.  Lord  Warnford  paid  her 
some  old-fashioned  bantering  compliment,  and  she  laughed 
very  good-humouredly,  but  could  not  possibly  exert  herself 
to  give  back  a  repartee  to  a  deaf  old  man  of  eighty ;  and,  at 
length,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  but  Susan,  she  addressed 
herself  suddenly  to  her  father,  and  insisted  upon  his  giving 
an  account  of  the  political  meeting  at  Wingfield,  and  the 
prospects  of  the  next  election. 

"  Very  like  her ! "  was  Susan's  amused  comment ;  but 
Susan  had. known  Helen  from  infancy,  and  did  her  justice. 
Other  people  did  not,  especially  when  Claude  Egerton, 
tempted  by  the  politics  in  which  he  was  just  tben  so  inter- 
ested, joined  in  the  conversation,  and  Helen  was  herself 
again, — brilliant,  excited,  full  of  cmick  observation,  and 
amusing  remarks. 

Lady  Hume  frowned  as  she  sat  in  the  corner  by  the  fire, 
and  thought  it  sad  that  so  vouns:  a  srirl  should  be  such  a 
flirt ;  and  the  Admiral  muttered  to  himself,  "  Aye !  plenty 
to  say,  when  it's  worth  her  while ;  but  he's  too  sharp  to  be 
caught ; "  whilst  Mrs.  Graham,  with  kindly  tact,  left  the 
Admiral's  side  at  the  risk  of  offending,  and  took  part  in  the 
conversation,  because  she  did  not  like  Helen,  though  uncon- 
sciously, to  make  herself  an  object  of  notice. 

"  Susan,  child,  what  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self?"  asked  the  Admiral  gruffly,  seizing  upon  Susan,  when 
ne  found  himself  left  alone,  and  making  her  sit  down  beside 
him. 

"Looking  at  etchings,  part  of  the  time,  sir;  and  talking 
to  Miss  Hume  about  some  new  work  which  she  is  going  to 
show  me  how  to  do.  That  won't  interest  you  much,  I  am 
afraid.  Drinking  coffee,  too,  and  searching  for  some  music 
for  Miss  Mary  Hume  to  play." 

"  Doing  the  honours  of  the  house,"  said  the  Admiral ; 
"why  does  not  your  friend  there  exert  herself?" 


IV0K3. 


Susan  laughed.     "  She  is  doing  all  she  can,  sir." 
"  All  she  likes,  you  mean.     I  hate  girls  who  have  noth- 
ing to  say,  except  when  they  like.    Beauty  indeed !     I  would 
not  give  a  fig  for  good  looks  without  good  manners." 

The  Admiral  was  always  rather  careless  in  his  speech ; 
not  hearing  very  well  himself,  he  fancied  that  others  partook 
his  infirmity. 

His  last  observation  was  made  so  loudly  that  it  attracted 
the  attention  of  several  persons,  amongst  others  of  Claude 
Egerton,  whose  conversation  had  just  been  interrupted  by  an 
order  from  Lady  Augusta  that  Helen  should  sing. 

"Whose  manners  are  you  finding  fault  with,  my  dear 
sir?"  he  inquired  laughingly,  as  he  drew  near.  "We  are 
all  wishing  to  know." 

Susan  looked  up  at  him  warningly.  "  It  is  not  a  very 
new  remark,"  she  observed.  "  It  need  not  apply  to  any  one 
in  particular." 

"  I  don't  always  understand  what  people  mean  by  good 
manners,"  said  a  voice  behind  Susan. 

Helen  was  searching  amongst  the  books  on  the  table  for 
a  piece  of  manuscript  music. 

Claude  addressed  himself  to  her  directly. — "  Good  man- 
ners, I  suppose,  are  the  manners  of  a  good  heart." 

"  That  can't  be.  I  have  known  the  worst  people  with 
the  best  manners." 

"  Try  them  under  all  circumstances  : — a  lady  is  a  lady  to 
her  milliner  and  her  maid ;  a  gentleman  is  a  gentleman  to 
his  groom." 

Helen  considered  a  moment.  "  Possibly ;  you  were 
always  fond  of  definitions;"  and  she  walked  away. 

"  I  don't  call  that  good  manners,"  muttered  the  Admi- 
ral ; — "  breaking  into  a  conversation,  and  then  running  oil*." 
"  Only  that  Helen's  manners  must  be  good,"  said  Susan. 
She  spoke  in  a  very  low  tone,  so  that  only  Claude  could  hear. 
He  stood  thoughtful. 


IV0K8  09 

"  Every  one  who  knows  her,  agrees  with  me,"  she  said 
earnestly,  and  expecting  his  assent. 

"  I  must  take  time  to  judge,"  was  the  reply ;  and  he  fol- 
lowed Helen  to  the  piano. 

Lady  Augusta  had  watched  them.  A  very  slight  change 
passed  over  her  face :  no  one  could  have  understood  that  it 
was  triumph.  But  she  sat  herself  down  by  the  Admiral,  and 
began  discoursing  upon  Claude  Egerton's  talents,  and  tl>e 
delight  it  was  to  her  to  find  that  he  had  at  last  made  up  Ids 
mind,  if  possible,  to  enter  Parliament. 

Claude  placed  himself  at  some  distance  from  the  piano. 
He  was  passionately  fond  of  music  of  a  peculiar  kind.  He 
cared  little  for  what  is  called  good  singing,  and  this  was  all 
he  expected  from  Helen.  It  was  curiosity  more  than  any 
other  feeling  which  made  him  follow  her. 

The  song  began  ; — it  was  German  ; — fashionable,  there- 
fore, Claude  thought, — and  the  first  notes  were  faint.  He 
took  up  a  book  of  prints,  and  Susan  observed  him,  and  fan- 
cied he  was  not  attending.  The  voice  strengthened ;  its 
notes  came  forth  full,  rich,  surpassingly  sweet, — with  such 
depth  of  feeling, — such  simple  intensity  of  expression,— they 
needed  no  words.  It  was  not  language, — it  was  the  voice 
of  the  soul, — which  spoke. 

Claude  remained  with  the  book  in  his  hand,  cold — absent 
apparently, — ori.y  his  eye  never  moved  form  the  spot  on 
which  it  had  first  been  fixed.  When  Helen  had  finished,  he 
went  up  to  her  and  said,  "  Thank  you ;  I  like  that  very 
much." 

"Do  you?  I  am  glad, — I  like  it  too."  But  Helen's  eye 
bad  lost  its  sparkle,  and  she  sat  for  some  seconds  silent,  for- 
eettiriff,  it  seemed,  where  she  was,  and  then  moved  from  the 
piano. 

"  Susan,  my  love,  we  have  not  heard  you,"  said  Lady 
Augusta  in  her  blandest  manner;  cutting  short  a  request 


7  IYOBS. 

which  was  upon  Sir  Henry's  lips,  that  Miss  Hume  would 
favour  them  with  another  piece. 

-  It  is  not  fair  to  ask  Susan  after  Helen,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham.    ';  She  does  very  little  more  than  sing  to  amuse  me." 

"  Oh !  hut  those  simple  songs,  after  all,  are  so  charming ! 
and  Susan's  voice  is  sweetly  touching." 

Poor  Susan !  If  one  thing  more  than  another  could  have 
chilled  her  feelings,  it  would  have  been  to  he  told  that  her 
voice  was  sweetly  touching.  Laughing  at  Helen  as  she 
passed  her,  and  telling  her  that  she  would  not  compete  with 
her  in  the  mournful  line,  she  sat  down  and  sang  a  Jacobite 
song,  which  delighted  old  Lord  Warnford  and  excited  Sir 
Henry  to  applause,  hut  made  Claude  Egerton  walk  away  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room  that  he  might  he  spared  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  compliment.  He  had  an  antipathy  to  Scotch 
music,  as  some  people  have  an  antipathy  to  cheese. 

Lady  Augusta's  good-humour  increased.  Her  praise  of 
Susan  was  unbounded ;  Mrs.  Graham  was  amused ;  and  the 
Admiral  observed,  testilv,  that  she  was  a  very  good  cnrl,  and 
had  a  good  strong  voice.  He  didn't  see  there  was  anything 
wonderful  in  it. 

The  evening  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's carriage  had  been  announced,  and  she  was  only  wait- 
ing for  the  conclusion  of  Miss  Hume's  brilliant  piece  to  de- 

.  Helen  and  Susan  were  sitting  together  for  the  first 
time  that  eveningr. 

••  Oh,  society!  "  said  Helen,  and  she  sighed. 
mntry  society,  you  mean,"  replied  Susan. 

••  All  society  !  all — evervthins-  \  " 

••  You  are  tired ;  a  night's  rest  will  put  it  all  right." 

"Will  it? — I  don't  know."  Helen  put  her  hand  over 
her  brow. 

•u  have  a  headache,  I  fear,"  said  Claude,  perceiving 
the  action,  and  coming  up  to  her.  His  manner  was  full  of 
inte: 


1V0US.  71 

"  Thank  you,  no, — not  headache." 

"Only  heartache,"  said  Susan,  lightly,  "hecause  the 
world  is  not  as  agreeahle  as  it  should  he." 

"  Have  you  begun  to  find  that  ?  "  asked  Claude. 

"  Every  one  has,  I  suppose." 

"Not  every  one,"  ohserved  Susan:  "the  world  is  very 
agreeahle  to  me." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  very  few  persons  I  have  heard  say 
so,"  replied  Claude  with  a  smile. 

"I  can't  like  what  I  don't  understand,"  said  Helen;  "I 
never  can  make  out  what  the  use  of  the  world  is." 

Susan  smiled.  "  Perhaps  the  world  would  have  an  equal 
dilfieulty  in  discovering  our  use,"  she  said;  "hut  there  is 
mamma  wishing  Lady  Augusta  good  ni ght.  Dear  Helen  !  I 
hope  the  world  will  he  agreeahle  to  you  to-morrow."  She 
shook  hands  affectionately  with  Helen,  cordially  with  Mr. 
Egerton,  and  went  to  her  mother. 

"  So  good  !  "    said  I  lelen,  looking  after  her. 

"  Yes !  I  should  think  so."  Claude's  manner  was  ab- 
stracted. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  question,  Miss  Clare." 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  Mr.  Egerton." 

The  nanus  Bounded  so  formal,  that  they  hoth  laughed. 

Lady  Augusta  came  up,  and  Susan  with  her,  searching 
for  a  glove. 

"Quite  like  the  old  times,"  was  Lady  Augusta's  ohser- 
vation. 

"  Not  quite,  whilst  we  Miss  Clare  and  Mr.  Egerton  each 
other,"  said  ( llaude. 

"Oh!  absurd!  Such  old  friends  1  cousins!"  replied 
Lady  Augusta. 

Claude  was  going  to  speak,  hut  hesitated.  Helen  assist- 
ed bun. 

"I  am  quite  willing   it  should  he   'Helen,'"   she  said; 

"  it  is  much  more  natural." 
4 


72  ivobs. 

Claude  bowed,  and  said  "  Thank  you,"  rather  coldly. 

"  And  I  am  sure  Claude  is  more  natural,"  observed  Lady 
Augusta.  "  Even  you,  Susan  dear,  must  remember  what  a 
playmate  Claude,  as  you  used  to  call  him,  was  when  you 
were  children." 

"  '  Mr.  Egerton  '  is  more  natural  now,"  said  Susan,  qui- 
etly ;  and  Claude  started,  as  though  just  awakening  to  the 
fact  of  her  presence,  and  offering  his  arm,  went  with  her  to 
the  carriage. 


CHAPTER  VILE 

Claude  Egerton  went  home  to  dream  neither  of  Helen  nor 
of  Susan,  but  of  the  duties  of  a  member  of  Parliament,  and 
the  disagreeables  connected  with  a  contested  election.  If 
his  project  was  to  be  carried  out,  his  stay  at  the  Lodge  would 
probably  be  but  short.  The  seat  for  the  town  of  Eamsay 
might  be  vacant  at  any  moment,  the  present  member  having 
openly  announced  his  intention  of  retiring  on  account  of  ill 
health,  and  it  would  be  necessary  to  make  arrangements  for 
canvassing  immediately.  It  was  very  unpleasant  to  him, 
extremely  contrary  to  his  taste,  and  all  the  old  objections 
presented  themselves  again.  But  he  was  not  as  some  men 
are,  so  fully  alive  to  the  difficulties  of  the  path  on  either 
side,  that  they  stand  still  in  the  middle  and  take  neither. 
One  of  the  many  lessons  taught  him  by  the  Admiral,  had 
been  that  of  making  a  choice  in  all  things.  Men  sin,  not 
because  they  choose,  but  because  they  don't  choose,  was  the 
old  man's  frequent  axiom  ;  and  Claude's  experience  had  fully 
taught  him  its  truth.  The  actions  which,  in  looking  back 
upon  his  life,  he  saw  the  most  reason  to  deplore,  were  those 
in  which,  instead  of  manfully  facing  the  conflicting  claims 
of  duty  and  inclination,  he  had  suffered  himself  to  pause  in 


itoes.  73 

indecision,  thinking  lie  was  standing  still,  whilst  in  fact  the 
current  of  evil,  so  much  stronger  always  than  that  of  good, 
was  bearing  hirn  on  to  the  point  from  whence  there  was  no 
retreat. 

The  present  question  was  not  one  which  involved  what 
the  world  would  call  right  or  wrong ;  but  in  Claude  Eger- 
ton's  eyes,  public  duty  was  to  be  regarded  in  the  same  light 
as  private,  to  be  decided  according  to  the  same  rules,  and 
carried  out  according  to  the  same  principles. 

He  thought  over  the  subject  again,  as  a  Christian  only 
can  think ;  trusting  neither  to  the  honesty  of  his  own  in- 
tentions, nor  the  flattering  opinions  of  his  friends,  but  seek- 
ing that  his  judgment  should  be  guided  by  God;  and  in  the 
morning  when  he  met  the  Admiral  at  breakfast,  his  resolu- 
tion was  finally  made  known.  He  would  walk  over  that 
morning,  he  said,  to  Ivors,  consult  Sir  Henry  as  to  the  de- 
tails of  his  proceedings,  and,  if  necessary,  go  down  imme- 
diately to  Eamsay,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  his  friends, 
begin  his  course  of  operations. 

Poor  Lady  Augusta  would  have  been  considerably  disap- 
•  pointed,  if  she  had  known  how  little  either  Helen  or  herself 
had  to  do  with  Mr.  Egerton's  early  morning  visit.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  a  thoroughly  wet  day,  the  rain  coming  down 
with  that  quiet  decision,  which  makes  the  expectation  of  blue 
sky  as  hopeless  as  the  attempt  to  combat  the  strong  determi- 
nation of  a  very  soft-spoken  and  gentle-mannered  woman. 
The  arrival  of  a  gentleman  in  a  mackintosh  before  luncheon, 
betokened  some  urgent  purpose  or  inclination,  and  Lady  Au- 
gusta, hearing  Claude's  voice  in  the  hall,  went  out  to  meet  him. 

"To  walk  over  on  such  a  wet  day!  How  very  good  of 
you,  my  dear  Claude!  You  must  be  wet  through.  Do  let 
them  take  away  that  dripping  coat ;  and  won't  you  have  a 
little  wine, — wine  and  water, — brandy? — don't  be  ashamed 
You  will  certainly  take  cold." 


71  IVOKS. 

Claude  disburdened  himself  leisurely  of  his  mackintosh, 
and  handed  it  to  the  sen-ant,  assuring  Lady  Augusta  at  the 
same  time  that  she  need  not  be  in  the  least  uneasy ;  he  was 
quite  dry,  the  walk  was  nothing.  He  had  come  hoping  to 
find  Sir  Henry  at  home. 

Lady  Augusta's  countenance  fell  a  little  ;  but  Sir  Henry 
was  doubtless  a  mere  excuse.  "  He  is  at  home,  I  think,  I 
am  not  sure ;  we  will  inquire.  But  you  will  come  into  the 
drawing-room,  the  ladies  will  be  quite  glad  to  be  enlivened 

by  a  visitor." 

The  last  thing  Claude  would  have  desired,  except, — yes, 
he  had  a  little  wish  to  see  whether  Helen  were  as  lovely  in 
her  morning  as  in  her  evening  dress.  As  for  Lady  Hume 
and  her  daughters,  he  considered  them,  just  then, — though 
it  was  a  most  uncourteous  opinion, — very  much  in  the  way. 

He  followed  Lady  Augusta  because  he  could  not  help 
himself,  thinking  painfully,  as  he  walked  by  her  side,  how 
little  her  kindness  could  deceive  him  now  as  to  her  real 
character. 

Helen  was  not  in  the  drawing-room ;  she  had  been  there 
a  few  minutes  before,  but  was  gone.  Claude  was  as  disap-' 
pointed  as  he  could  be  in  regard  to  anything  about  which  he 
cared  so  little  as  seeing  or  not  seeing  her,  but  Lady  Augusta 
was  restless.  She  began  by  introducing  Claude  with  a  kind 
of  badinage  upon  his  early  visit,  b'lt  still  her  eyes  wandered 
round  and  round  the  room,  first  to  one  door,  then  the  other. 
It  was  the  consciousness  of  her  secret  wishes  which  made  her 
hesitate  to  ask  what  had  become  of  Helen.  Miss  Hume  was 
drawing,  copying  some  flowers  from  nature,  very  well. 
Claude's  straightforward,  gentleman-like  manner,  put  every 
one  at  ease  with  him ;  and  when  he  admired  them,  she  was 
pleased,  and  feeling  thankful  for  encouragement  which  she 
rarely  received,  showed  him  some  others  which  she  had  been 
trying  the  previous  day.     He  did  not  think  her  so  much  in 


ivoes.  75 

the  way  then ;  anything  that  was  unpretending,  and  was 
inclined  to  open  to  him,  awoke  an  interest.  But  Lady  Au- 
gusta had  not  the  least  intention  of  allowing  him  to  be  in- 
terested in  any  one  but  Helen,  though  it  might  be  only  for  a 
moment,  and  with  poor,  plain,  dull  Miss  Hume.  She  inge- 
niously diverted  the  conversation  from  the  portfolio  to  the 
conservatory,  keeping  flowers  still  on  the  taj>is ;  and  Claude 
was  called  upon  to  give  his  opinion  upon  a  rare  Australian 
plant  which  the  gardener  had  just  succeeded  in  raising  from 
seed.  This  drew  him  from  Miss  Hume,  and  was  an  excuse 
for  going  through  the  ante-room  and  the  library,  into  the 
conservatory,  where  probably  Helen  might  be  found,  it  being 
her  usual  refuge  from  visitors. 

They  lingered  in  the  library.  Claude's  attention  Avas  at- 
tracted by  a  bust  upon  a  little  table.  It  was  like  Helen,  but 
not  verv  like.     He  asked  whether  it  was  intended  for  her. 

tf 

"  Dear  child !  yes,  but  it  is  a  failure.  A  bust  of  her 
must  be,  it  wants  life,  and  she  has  so  much." 

"Not  very  much  this  morning,  mamma,"  said  Helen's 
voice,  issuing  from  Lady  Augusta's  recess.  "  I  am  so  com- 
fortable and  so  lazy  here." 

"  Silly  child !  how  tiresome  of  you  to  run  away.  Here 
is  Mr.  Egerton  come  to  see  you  !  " 

"  And  very  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  said  Claude,  coming  in 
front  of  the  recess. 

Helen  was  seated  on  the  cushioned  window  scat,  cushions 
behind  her,  a  footstool  at  her  feet,  a  book  in  her  lap,  the  very 
image  of  indolent  enjoyment.  She  moved  a  little  as  Claude 
came  up  to  her,  but  expressed  scarcely  civil  pleasure  at  the 
sight  of  hiin. 

Claude  failed  to  remark  her  manner,  he  was  looking  at 
her  countenance  and  dress,  as  he  might  have  looked  at  a  pic- 
ture. They  quite  satisfied  his  taste,  and  were  even  so  pleas- 
ant to  him,  that  when  Lady  Augusta  sat  down  for  an  instant, 


70  IVORS. 

lie  sat  down  also ;  contented  to  delay  his  conversation  with 
Sir  Henry,  for  the  gratification  of  having  an  object  before 
his  eyes  so  gracefully  pretty  as  Helen  in  her  morning  dress. 

"  I  must  scold  you,  child,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  in  her 
playful,  fondling  tone ;  a  tone  which,  from  some  unacknow- 
ledged cause,  made  the  blood  creep  in  Claude  Egerton's 
veins.  "  You  are  really  too  naughty ;  the  sound  of  a  bell 
seems  to  scare  you." 

"  It  was  not  the  sound  of  the  bell,"  replied  Helen ;  "  it 
was  the  Hume  prosing :  I  could  bear  it  no  longer." 

"  So  dreadfully  fastidious  !  What  shall  we  do  with  her, 
Claude  ?     She  likes  no  one." 

"  Because  there  is  no  one  to  like,"  continued  Helen,  "  at 
least  here.     Who  could  like  Miss  Hume?  " 

"Who  could  dislike  her?"  asked  Claude,  quietly. 

"  Well !  exactly.  One  never  likes  people  whom  one 
couldn't  dislike, — vegetables,  without  flavours." 

"  That  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  why  it  is  necessary  to 
use  so  much  salt  in  discussing  them,"  said  Claude,  in  the 
same  unimpressive  tone,  which  gave  no  clue  as  to  whether  he 
were  speaking  in  jest  or  earnest. 

Lady  Augusta  was  not  certain  that  the  conversation  was 
taking  a  safe  course.  Helen  could  be  so  very  severe,  and 
she  was  doubtful  if  Claude  liked  severity  in  a  woman.  She 
interposed :  "  My  love,  you  really  must  learn  to  be  more 
charitable;  yon  are  spoilt.  London  society  has  done  the 
mischief,  Claude.  One  can  really  collect  such  first  rate  peo- 
ple about  one  there  ;  clever,  scientific,  really  good  people.  I 
confess  myself  that  the  country  is  very  stupid  after  it." 

"I  don't  find  it  more  stupid  than  London,"  said  Helen ; 
"  of  all  things  I  hate  fashionable  parties." 

"  Agreed,  cordially,"  exclaimed  Claude. 

Lady  Augusta  thought  the  subject  more  hopeful,  and  pur- 
sued it.     "  At  any  rate,  my  dear,  you  can't  compare  London 


ivoks.  77 

to  country  society.  London  may  be  foolish,  but  it  certainly 
is  not  dull." 

"  Not  dull,  when  one  takes  the  trouble  to  laugh  at  it," 
said  Helen  ;  "  but  I  don't  know  whether  that  is  a  good  thing 
to  do,"  and  she  sighed. 

"  I  must  leave  Claude  to  fathom  the  mystery  of  that 
sigh,"  observed  Lady  Augusta ;  "  and  go  and  talk  to  Sir 
Henry  about  something  he  asked  me  to  remind  him  of.  Wait 
for  me  one  moment  here,  Claude,  and  I  will  tell  him  you  wish 
to  see  himj' 

Claude  felt  he  must  be  patient.  He  rose,  and  stood, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  waiting  for  Helen  to  speak,  whilst, 
with  her  face  towards  the  window,  she  was  watching  the 
dripping  of  the  rain  upon  the  gravel.  When,  after  a  few 
seconds,  she  again  turned  it  towards  him,  he  was  painfully 
struck  with  a  change  in  its  expression.  He  would  have  called 
it  haggard,  if  the  word  could  have  been  applied  to  anything 
so  young  and  fresh.  Mentally  haggard  it  was,  certainly. 
"  Such  a  dreary,  dreary  day,"  she  murmured,  as  she  closed  her 
bonk. 

"  Yes,  but  I  think  it  will  clear  by  and  by." 

"Do  you?"  and  she  smiled  sarcastically.  "You  are 
more  hopeful  than  I  am." 

"  There  is  a  peep  of  blue  sky  in  the  north-east." 

"  The  wrong  quarter ;  these  rains  always  go  on.  Oh  ! 
Lady  Hume ! " 

"It  must  be  trying,'  said  Claude,  in  a  tone  of  com- 
passion. 

Helen  noticed  it.  "  I  don't  want  pity,"  she  said.  "  I>  is 
not  Lady  Hume,  nor  any  one,  really." 

"  The  dull  book,  perhaps,"  continued  Claude. 

"  Tbe  book  is  a  novel."     He  looked  grave. 

"  You  disapprove  of  novels  '.  " 

"Only  under  certain  circumstances." 


78  ivoes. 

"  Then  not  under  mine.   T  couldn't  exist  without  fiction. 

"  Keality  is  so  dull,  I  suppose,"  said  Caude. 

"  Yes,  but  it  ought  not  to  be  so,  ought  it  %  " 

She  spoke  frankly  and  earnestly,  and  Claude  answered 
in  the  same  way.  "  Perhaps  it  never  is,  except  through  our 
own  fault." 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  Susan,"  said  Helen,  with  an  air  of 
thought,  "  she  said  so  last  night.  But  then  she  has  so  many 
to  love  her." 

"  I  was  going  to  ask," — Claude  hesitated, — "  Perhaps  you 
remember  I  was  going  to  ask  a  question  last  night  ?  " 

"  "Were  you  ?  "  said  Helen,  indifferently.     "  I  forget." 

"  I  have  just  remembered  it,"  continued  Claude.  "  You 
said  last  night  that  you  could  not  make  out  the  use  of  the 
world.     I  wished  at  the  time  you  would  explain  yourself." 

"  Oh,  impossible !  Explain  my  own  words !  You  may 
as  well  ask  me  to  explain  my  own  mind.  But  the  world  is 
a  puzzle." 

"  A  great  one,  unless  one  has  found  the  clue  to  it." 

"  Which  means  that  you  have  found  it.  You  are  wiser 
than  I  am,"  said  Helen. 

A  momentary  silence  followed,  then  she  added,  suddenly, 
"  Why  are  you  going  into  Parliament?  " 

"For  a  great  many  reasons,  which  it  would  take  a  deal 
of  time  to  explain,"  he  replied. 

Helen  was  piqned,  and  answered  with  petulance,  "  I  have 
no  wish  to  pry  into  mysteries." 

"  There  is  no  mystery,"  he  said,  coldly ;  "  only  a  ques- 
tion of  comparative  duties,  which  would  be  very  uninterest- 
ing to  you." 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  should  be.  1  like  to  hear  people 
talk  of  duties.  It  is  so  amusing  to  watch  the  difference  be- 
tween their  theory  and  their  practice." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  feel  that  you  could  watch  the  dif- 


ivors.  79 

ference  in  me,"  replied  Claude,  "  so  you  must  forgive  me  if  I 
decline  giving  you  the  opportunity." 

His  manner  was  so  entirely  unlike  anything  to  which 
Helen  had  been  accustomed,  that  she  felt  very  much  inclined 
to  be  angry. 

But  the  good-humoured,  kindly  expression  of  Claude's 
face  softened  her  in  spite  of  herself.  "  I  see  you  despise  me 
too  much  to  talk  to  me,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  You  were 
always  a  philosopher." 

"  I  despise  myself  rather.  I  dread  inconsistency ;  and  I 
know. you  would  be  the  first  to  mark  it." 

"  I  don't  thank  you  for  the  compliment.  I  only  like 
truth." 

"  We  are  agreed  on  that  point  at  least,"  replied  Claude, 
earnestly. 

"That  and  disliking  fashionable  society,"  said  Helen. 
"  Two  points  only." 

"  But  truth  is  the  foundation  of  all,"  continued  Claude ; 
"  so  there  is  hope  for  us." 

"  Xo,"  said  Helen,  gravely ;  "  you  will  never  agree  with 
me.  There  is  nothing  to  agree  with ;  only  in  thinking  that 
it  is  a  dreary  day."  She  turned  her  head  again  towards  the 
window. 

Lady  Augusta  camv.  back  before  another  word  was  spo- 
ken, and  Claude  Egerton  was  a  few  moments  afterwards  clos- 
eted with  Sir  Henry,  and  engrossed  in  politics. 

Claude  forgot  Helen,  bu'.  Helen  did  not  quite  so  soon 
forget  Claude.  The  very  fact  of  his  coldness  made  her  re- 
member him.  Her  last  recollections  of  him,  derived  from 
the  days  when  she  felt  that  she  was  a  child,  were  of  ;i 
good-tempered,  kind  companion,  who  would  laugh  and  talk 
with  her,  go  for  long  walks,  and  ride  races  in  the  park ;  and 
she  expected  to  find  him  now  an  easy,  agreeable  man  of  the 
world,  who  would  help  to  keep  up  her  spirits  on  a  wet  day, 


80  IYOKS. 

and  with  whom  she  might  carry  on  as  much  repartee  as  suited 
her.  But  Claude,  to  own  the  truth,  could  not  he  called  very 
agreeable.  People  listened  to  him,  because  what  he  had  to 
say  was  generally  worth  listening  to ;  but  he  had  very  little 
small-talk,  and,  unless  he  was  interested  in  a  subject,  was 
much  more  in  the  habit  of  being  silent  than  of  conversing. 
His  indifference,  too,  was  perplexing  to  Helen.  She  had 
been  accustomed  lately  to  such  an  amount  of  homage  for  her 
beauty,  that  she  expected  it  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
felt  surprised  at  not  receiving  it,  as  she  might  have  done  if 
the  labourers  on  her  father's  property  had  neglected  to  take 
off  their  hats  to  her.  It  was  simply  surprise,  not  conceit  or 
mortified  vanity.  Helen  never  realised  to  herself  why  she 
was  so  courted.  Admiration  came  to  her  as  if  it  had  been 
her  birthright.  She  only  felt  that  it  was  strange  to  meet 
with  some  one  who  was  evidently  not  in  the  least  devoted  to 
her,  and  quite  as  willing  to  leave  her  as  to  be  with  her.  It 
made  Claude  interesting  rather  than  otherwise,  and  she  sat 
for  nearly  an  hour  in  the  library  window,  thinking  how  odd 
"  some  people  "  were, — some  people  meaning  Claude  ;  wan- 
dering what  made  them  so ;  wondering  what  objects  and  in- 
terests such  persons  could  have ;  with  a  good  many  other 
thoughts  of  the  same  kind,  ending  in  her  going  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  finding  Captain  Mordaunt  there,  quizzing 
what  he  called  the  Egerton  solemnity,  joining  in  the  laugh 
till  her  spirits  were  so  raised  that  Lady  Hume,  from  her  sofa 
corner,  again  shook  her  head,  and  lamented  that  Helen 
should  be  such  a  flirt ;  and  at  last  retiring  to  her  own  room, 
disgusted  with  herself,  and  unable  even  to  find  interest  in 
her  novel,  because  she  had  a  secret  misgiving  that  Claude 
would  think  it  an  unprofitable  expenditure  of  time. 

Poor  Helen  !  that  was  by  no  means  an  unusual  state  of 
mind  on  a  wet  day.  If  it  had  not  been  caused  by  Claude,  it 
A-ould  have  been  probably  by  some  one  or  something  else. 


IVORS.  81 

She  had  many  resources,  but  very  few  interests,  for  she  had 
none  with  whom  to  share  them.  She  was  indifferent  to  Lady 
Augusta's  friends,  and  had  never  been  allowed  to  make  any 
of  her  own.  As  for  the  families  living  near  Ivors,  they  might 
as  well  have  been  been  in  Australia  for  anything  that  she 
thought  or  cared  about  them.  She  knew  no  one  except  as  a 
distant  acquaintance.  And  even  her  cousins  at  Wingneld 
were  scarcely  more  to  her  in  the  way  of  companionship. 
They  were  too  busy  at  home  to  be  often  spared,  even  if  they 
had  been  often  invited  to  Ivors,  which  they  certainly  were  not 

Lady  Augusta's  dread  of  evil  and  its  contamination  had 
unquestionably  worked  for  good  in  one  way.  Helen's  mind 
was  as  pure  and  simple  at  nineteen  as  at  nine.  But  whether 
that  were  due  only  to  the  system  which  had  isolated  her 
from  communion  with  her  fellow-creatures,  might  have  been 
doubted  by  those  who  looked  at  Susan  Graham  ;  open-heart- 
ed, open-handed,  visiting  the  poor,  giving  a  kindly  thought 
to  the  rich,  free  to  come  or  go,  to  form  little  plans  for  amuse- 
ment or  occupation  with  her  sisters  and  her  friends,  which 
called  forth  independent  energy,  already  preparing  for  any 
future  duties  which  years  and  the  events  of  life  might  bring 
upon  her,  yet  as  pure,  as  simple  as  Helen ;  with  this  only 
difference,  that  whereas  Helen  had  scarcely  ever  heard  of 
many  common  forms  of  evil  and  their  consequences,  Susan 
had  been  told  so  much  and  no  more  as  would  open  her  heart 
to  sympathy,  and  give  her  the  discretion  required  to  deal 
with  them  wisely,  whenever,  in  the  course  of  circumstances, 
they  might  be  brought  more  immediately  before  her. 

'•  Helen  will  be  forced  to  see  so  much  that  is  disagree- 
able if  she  is  allowed  to  go  into  cottages,"  was  Lady  Au- 
gusta's excuse  for  not  permitting  her  daughter  to  do  what  in 
fact  she  never  did  herself.  And  so  Helen  knew  nothing  of 
the  labourers  and  their  wives  and  children;  but  she  stayed 
at  home,   and  read  very  pretty  religious  stories  about  the 


S2  IVORS. 

poor,  and  now  and  then,  when  there  was  nothing  else  very 
particular  to  do,  made  a  child's  frock  ;  and  on  the  occasion 
of  any  general  subscription,  put  down  her  name  for  a  large 
sum,  paid  by  her  father,  because  it  was  not  to  be  expected 
that  she  should  give  so  much  out  of  her  allowance.  She  had 
no  idea  that  she  was  in  any  way  neglecting  her  duties.  She 
was  unaware  that  anything  more  was  required  of  her.  But 
her  mind  preyed  upon  itself.  It  had  a  constant  craving 
which  could  never  be  satisfied.  Full  of  talent,  poetry,  en- 
thusiasm, by  nature  tender-hearted  and  sympathetic,  yet 
Helen  lived  only  for  herself.  She  read,  worked,  drew, 
talked, — but  self  was  the  one  object,  and  it  was  insufficient 
to  satisfy  her.  Lady  Augusta  complained,  and  said  that 
Helen  was  indolent :  most  true,  but  she  had  been  made  so. 
Pursuits  which  would  have  been  interesting  when  carried  on 
with  others  with  a  view  to  some  useful  or  pleasant  end,  lost 
their  charm  when  followed  for  no  definite  purpose,  and  were 
thrown  aside.  So  also  she  was  changeable.  Everything 
which  gave  her  a  new  impulse  was  adopted,  merely  because 
it  was  excitement,  and  excitement  was  life,  and  Helen's  life 
was  dead.  True,  candid,  open  as  the  day,  by  the  disposition 
which  God  had  bestowed  upon  her,  yet  her  existence  was  an 
unreality — a  perpetual  discordance  between  principle  and 
practice — which  she  had  learnt  to  laugh  at,  because  it  was 
exhibited  before  her  in  the  persons  whom  the  lessons  of  her 
childhood  had  taught  her  should  be  regarded  with  respect. 
Helen  Clare  was  a  problem  to  herself  and  to  others. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

•'-Mamma,  Mr.  Egerton  is  returned  for  Ramsay ;  aren't  you 
glad  1 "  Anna  Graham  came  into  the  little  study,  where 
Mrs.  Graham  and  Susan  were  writing,  and  Isabella  reading. 


ivoes.  83 

"  Returned,  are  you  sure  ?  "  Susan's  pen  was  laid  down, 
and  she  addressed  her  sister  with  an  eagerness  which  made 
Anna  laugh. 

"  One  would  think  you  were  going  to  be  returned  your- 
self, Susan.  Yes,  I  am  sure,  quite ;  I  heard  it  from  Lady 
Augusta  and  Helen.  They  were  at  Grant's,  shopping,  and 
I  went  in  as  I  came  from  Mrs.  Lowrie's  to  buy  some  French 
cotton  for  Mrs.  Berry.  You  don't  mind  my  going  in,  dear 
, mamma,  do  you?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  love  ;  I  don't  imagine  you  will  come  to 
any  mischief  by  buying  French  cotton.  But  tell  us  what 
Lady  Augusta  said." 

"  Oh !  she  was  in  high  spirits,  and  so  gracious !  She 
talked  of  coming  here  to  call  and  tell  you  all  about  it. 
Helen  says  Mr.  Egerton  made  a  grand  speech ;  and  he  came 
in  with  an  immense  majority.  '  Quite  a  political  triumph  ! ' 
Lady  Augusta  called  it.  Helen's  eyes  sparkled,  and  she 
talked  so  fast !     I  never  saw  people  in  such  a  state." 

"  Or  who  made  others  in  such  a  state,"  said  Mrs.  Graham, 
laughing.  "  I  shall  object  to  your  buying  French  cotton  for 
the  future,  Anna,  if  the  consequences  are  so  alarming." 

"  It  Avill  be  pleasant  to  see  Helen  excited,"  said  Susan ; 
"  she  has  been  always  depressed  lately." 

"  I  don't  see  why  she  should  be,"  observed  Isabella  in  a 
melancholy  tone.  "  I  am  sure  she  has  enough  to  make  her 
happy." 

Mrs.  Graham  replied  to  this  remark  by  a  slight  sigh,  ob- 
served only  by  Susan. 

"  She  never  is  happy — not  what  I  call  Happy,'"  observed 
Anna.  "I  wouldn't  live  the  life  that  she  does  if  you  would 
give  me  fifty  thousand  instead  of  ten  thousand  a  year.  Dear 
mamma !  I  am  so  thankful  that  we  are  not  too  grand  to  be 
useful ; "  and  Anna  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck 
and  kissed  her. 


84  IVORS. 

"  It  is  not  grandeur,  Anna,  which  prevents  persons  from 
being  useful,"  said  Mrs.  Graham :  "  you  will  learn  that  by 
and  by.  Some  of  the  grandest  people— as  you  would  call 
them — that  I  have  ever  known,  have  been  the  most  useful." 

"  Not  when  they  thought  about  their  grandeur,  though," 

said  Anna. 

"  Helen  never  thinks  of  her  grandeur,"  observed  Susan. 

"  She  only  feels  it,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Education  has 
done  that.  Helen  is  naturally  exceedingly  unassuming,  but 
she  has  been  kept  aloof  from  every  one  till  she  looks  down 
upon  them,  and  takes  no  interest  in  them,  simply  because 
she  knows  nothing  about  them." 

"  Lady  Augusta  never  intended  to  make  her  proud,"  said 
Isabella.  "  I  have  heard  her  preach  quite  a  sermon  about 
humility." 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  ;  and  a  smile  passed  over 
her  face,  which  she  checked  almost  immediately. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  preaching  humility  and  practising 
pride?"  murmured  Susan  in  an  under  tone,  whilst  she  went 
on  with  her  writing. 

"  I  don't  think  we  are  the  better  for  discussing  Lady 
Augusta,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. — "  Anna,  love,  I  wanted  you, 
if  you  have  time  to-day,  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  Dear  mamma  !  yes — anything ;"  and  Anna  leaned  over 
ber  mother  fondly,  and  added,  "  I  always  have  time  for  you." 

"  I  want  you  to  make  up  the  account  of  the  subscription 
for  Kate  Hope,  and  copy  it  out.  Let  me  see  ; — I  think  there 
must  be  sis  copies  at  least. — I  dare  say  Isabella  will  help." 

Isabella  said,  "  Yes,"  but  not  with  great  alacrity. 

"  And  Susan  must  give  me  some  books  from  the  lending 
library  for  Mrs.  Lowrie's  servants,"  said  Anna.  "  I  prom- 
ised her  she  should  have  them." 

"  The  books  want  covering,"  observed  Susan,  "  and  I 
have  not  had  time  to  do  them." 


ivoks.  85 

"  Isabella  shall  cover  them,"  said  Anna,  "  and  I  will  man- 
age Kate  Hope's  account ;  I  can  do  it  quite  well." 

Susan  turned  to  her  mother.  "  Mamma,  I  don't  know 
what  you  will  say,  but  I  have  promised  Mrs.  Lowrie  that  her 
girl,  Harriet  Pearce,  should  come  and  read  Avith  our  little 
maid  on  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays.  Mrs!  Lowrie  says  that  it 
would  be  such  a  comfort  to  her  to  feel  that  she  had  some  one 
besides  herself  to  teach  Harriet.  Should  you  object  ?  I 
said  I  would  talk  to  you  about  it." 

"Not  at. all,  my  love,  if  you  like  it.  It  is  not  much 
more  trouble  to  teach  two  than  one." 

"  Mrs.  Berry  has  been  talking  to  us  again  about  an  elder 
class  from  the  Sunday-school  girls,"  said  Anna ;  "but  I  told 
her  I  was  afraid  we  could  scarcely  begin  it  this  winter." 

"  I  don't  think  we  can,  possibly,"  said  Susan,  who  took 
in  all  that  was  said,  whilst  her  pen  moved  tolerably  fast. 

"  The  days  are  so  short,"  continued  Anna  ;  "  and  after 
we  have  had  our  schoolroom  work  in  the  morning,  there 
really  is  not  daylight  enough  for  anything,  except  just  see- 
ing one  or  two  people,  and  going  for  a  rushing  walk  on  the 
Ivors  road." 

"  Unless  we  were  to  dine  later,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham. 
"  Dinner  takes  up  such  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  middle 
of  the  clay." 

"  I  can't  bear  altering  the  dinner-hour,"  said  Isabella ; 
"  it  is  so  unnatural." 

"  If  we  dined  at  half-past  five,  we  might  have  the  class 
for  an  hour  before,"  said  Susan. 

"  No ;  that  was  what  Mrs.  Berry  said,"  observed  Anna. 
"  I  should  like  to  manage  it,  if  one  could.  Mr.  Berry  is  so 
anxious  about  it ;  he  says  that  it  would  be  keeping  a  hold 
upon  them,  to  make  them  feel  they  had  ladies  looking  after 
them.  And,  mamma,  do  you  know,  he  has  had  such  good 
accounts  of  Jessie  Dawson, — the  girl  with  the  burnt  face, 


86  ivors. 

you  remember, — whom  I  taught  to  knit  last  spring.  Her 
face  is  quite  well,  and  she  has  a  place  as  kitchen-maid  with 
Mrs.  Berry's  aunt ;  and  she  sends  her  particular  duty  to  me. 
Isn't  that  grand  ?"  And  Anna  drew  herself  up  playfully, 
whilst  her  cheek  flushed  with  pleasure  at  the  consciousness 
of  having  done  something  to  deserve  gratitude. 

"  I  don't  think  elder  classes  or  younger  ones  will  flour- 
ish much,  if  we  spend  so  much  time  in  talking  about  them," 
said  Mrs.  Graham.     "  What  a  chatterer  you  are,  Anna." 

"  Only  I  must  tell  you,  dear  mamma,  you  know  we  can't 
set  to  work  without  you.  Oh  dear  !  what  a  great  deal  there 
is  to  do  in  the  world !  I  will  just  go  and  take  off  my 
things,  and  then  come  and  make  up  Kate  Hope's  account. 
I  suppose  we  shan't  go  out  this  afternoon,  it  is  coming  on 
to  rain." 

"  I  want  you  to  come  to  my  room  one  minute,  Anna," 
said  Susan,  "  and  to  bring  me  your  scrap-bag.  Mamma 
wants  some  linen  for  the  almshouses,  and  I  want  some  for 
Mrs.  Lowrie,  and  if  we  are  not  going  out,  we  must  send  it." 

"  Make  haste,  then.  Lady  Augusta  will  be  here  in  a 
minute.  Why  are  people  so  tiresome  as  to  call  when  one  is 
busy  ?  "  And  Anna  hurried  out  of  the  room,  followed  by 
Susan. 

Isabella  sai  with  her  book  before  her,  apparently  read- 
ing. "My  love,  all  this  talking  must  disturb  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham.  "Why  don't  you  go  into  the  dining-room'? 
there  is  a  fire  there." 

"I  would  rather  stay  here,  thank  you,  dear  mamma," 
replied  Isabella,  scarcely  raising  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Graham  watched  her,  and  saw  a  tear  drop  upon  the 
page.  She  went  up  to  her  and  kissed  her.  "  Unhappy,  my 
child  ?  "  she  said  tenderly,  yet  not  anxiously. 

"N©,  dear  mamma,  it  is  nothing;  it  is  really  nothing." 
Isablla  brushed  her  hand  across  her  eyes. 


ivoks.  87 

"  Only  the  old  malady,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

Isabella  half  smiled.  "  It  really  is  nothing ;  please  don't 
ask  me ;  I  know  I  ought  to  be  happy." 

"  Yes,  indeed  you  ought ;  you  have  everything  to  make 
you  so." 

"  Except  people's  love,"  said  Isabella,  bitterly. 

"  My  dear  child,  that  is  wrong.  You  have  love ;  as  much 
as  any  human  being  has  the  least  right  to  wish  for ;  my  love, 
your  sisters',  your  brother's ;  the  love  of  friends  too." 

"  Yes,  secondary  love,"  said  Isabella.  "  Dear  mamma !  " 
— and  she  clung  to  her  mother,  conscious  of  the  seeming  in- 
gratitude of  her  words — "  I  know  you  love  me,  but  I  don't 
deserve  it." 

"  We  none  of  us  deserve  any  love,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 

But  I  am  not  like  Susan  and  Anna.  I  am  disagreeable ; 
I  make  you  unhappy." 

ki  Xever,  except  by  being  unhappy  yourself,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham. 

"  And  I  never  shall  be  like  them,"  continued  Isabella. 
"  I  shall  never  have  any  one  to  love  me  best." 

"  I  suppose  they  would  be  puzzled  to  find  out  any  one 
who  loves  them  best,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Certainly  it 
would  not  be  their  mother." 

"  Dearest  mamma,  you  are  so  good,  so  very  kind ;  but  I 
don't  think  you  can  understand, — I  don't  think  any  one 
can." 

"I  think  I  can,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  as  she  fondly 
smoothed  her  child's  glossy  hair  ;  adding,  "  Once  upn  a  time, 
Isabella,  I  had  the  same  fancies." 

"  You,  mamma  1  Impossible.  You  must  always  have 
been  loved." 

"Yes,  as  you  are:  but  the  love  was  thrown  away  upon 
me.  Your  dear  aunt,  Helen's  mother,  was  a  more  attractive 
person  than  I  was ;  she  was  beautiful,  as  Helen  is,  and  very 


88  ivors. 

clever,  and  she  was  the  elder,  and  so  was  brought  more  for- 
ward ;  and  at  length  I  became,  not  exactly  envious, — I  was 
too  fond  of  her  to  be  that, — but  discontented.  I  was  out  of 
health,  too,  that  had  something  to  do  with  it.  I  used  to  get 
into  low  spirits  for  no  reason,  and  very  often  I  made  this  an 
excuse  to  myself  for  being  really  ill-humoured." 

Just  at  this  instant  Susan  looked  in  at  the  door,  but  went 
away  again  directly.  Isabella  started  up,  afraid  of  being 
remarked.  When  the  door  was  closed,  she  said  eagerly, 
"  And  who  helped  you,  mamma  ?  " 

"  A  curious  person, — an  old  nurse,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 
"  She  found  me  one  evening  crying  in  my  own  room,  and 
asked  me  what  was  the  matter.  I  said,  as  you  do,  that  I 
didn't  know ;  that  I  was  very  unhappy,  and  nobody  loved 
me ;  and  a  good  deal  more  of  the  same  kind,  more,  indeed, 
than  you  would  say,  because  I  had  been  allowed  to  have  my 
own  way  as  a  child,  and  had  but  little  notion  of  self-control. 
She  let  me  go  on  for  a  long  time,  and  listened  quietly,  and 
at  last — I  think  I  see  her  now — she  shook  her  head,  and 
said,  "  Ah  !  Miss  Frances,  self  comes  first,  and  self  is  never 
satisfied." 

"I  don't  know  what  she  meant,"  said  Isabella,  a  little 
moodily. 

"  Exactly  my  own  words  ;  though  I  doubt  if  they  were 
quite  sincere.  She  did  not  immediately  explain  them,  but 
went  on  questioning  me,  in  her  strict,  short  way,  as  to  what 
I  had  been  doing  all  the  day ;  what  I  had  read,  and  where 
I  had  walked,  and  what  work  I  had  done ;  and  at  every  an- 
swer she  said,  '  Well,  and  whom  did  that  please  1 '  And  in 
almost  every  case  I  was  obliged  to  answer,  myself.  Nurse 
took  my  hand,  and  said  solemnly,  '  Poor  child !  myself  is  a 
hard  tyrant.' " 

Iabella  looked  up,  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  hesitated. 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 


IVORS.  S!) 

"  You  think  it  does  not  apply  to  you ;  and,  in  a  certain  Way, 
that  is  true.  For  me,  I  had  been  ill  and  depressed ;  aud 
fancying  that  I  had  a  right  to  amuse  myself  and  distract  my 
thoughts  if  I  could,  I  had  literally  lived  only  for  myself.  I 
had  read  for  my  own  pleasure,  worked  to  gratify  my  own 
fancy,  talked  or  been  silent,  walked  or  stayed  at  home,  en- 
tirely to  please  myself.  I  gave  no  pleasure  to  others,  and 
as  a  natural  result  they  gave  no  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  fan- 
cied they  didn't  care  for  me." 

"  But,  mamma,  I  do  work  for  others,"  said  Isabella. 

"Because  you  are  obliged:  there  is  very  little  voluntary 
effort." 

"  I  do  the  things ;  I  can't  help  their  being  unpleasant  to 
me,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Yes,  dear  child ;  excuse  me,  you  can  help  it.  If  your 
thoughts  were  right,  your  feelings  would  be  right.  Just  tell 
me,  do  you  ever  give  yourself  the  trouble  of  planning  what 
you  can  do  to  please  or  help  others  %  " 

"  There  is  no  occasion  ;  I  am  generally  told  what  I  am 
to  do,"  said  Isabella. 

"  Then  I  have  very  much  failed  in  the  object  of  my 
life,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham,  sadly.  "  My  one  chief  desire 
has  been  to  educate  you  so  that  you  might  have  independent 
springs  of  action,  and  wck  without  being  told." 

"  But  the  work  does  the  same  good  to  others,  whether 
you  plan  it  or  I  do,"  said  Isabella. 

"  Possibly  ;  though  upon  that  point  I  have  a  doubt.  But 
as  regards  yourself,  nothing  interests  us  which  is  not  attend- 
ed by  some  voluntary  effort.  If  you  give  yourself  the 
trouble  to  plan  what  you  can  do  for  others,  your  work  will 
become  interesting;  otherwise  it  is  simply  mechanical. 
What  is  defective  in  you,  my  child,  is  less  selfishness  in  ac- 
tum than  in  feeling.  The  first  step  towards  right  feeling  is 
made  in  the  management  of  the  thoughts." 


90  IVOK8. 

"But  all  the  work  in  the  world  will  not  procure  me 
love,"  persisted  Isabella. 

"  Not  the  work,  hut  the  unselfishness,  the  kind-hearted, 
benevolent  feeling  which  is  always  thinking  of  other6!  and 
forgetting  itself  will.  I  will  tell  you  again  about  myself. 
That  speech  of  nurse's  had  a  great  effect  upon  me :  it  made 
me  look  into  my  heart,  and  discover  what  a  great  fault  I  had 
been  indulging.  I  set  to  work  resolutelv  against  it,  and  I 
hope  in  the  right  way,  for  I  was  really  influenced  by  reli- 
gious principle.  I  tried  first  for  one  day,  making  it  my  decided 
object  to  do  everything  which  I  could  think  of  that  would 
give  pleasure  to  others  ;  not  merely  leaving  undone  selfish 
actions,  but  doing  thoughtful  and  considerate  ones.  My 
mind  beame  interested,  and  I  had  no  leisure  to  dwell  upon 
the  fancy  that  no  one  loved  me.  The  next  morning  I  made 
a  resolution  for  two  days,  then  for  a  week,  and  at  last  for  a 
month.  I  grew  much  happier,  and  could  not  help  seeing 
that  every  one  was  kinder  than  before,  and  more  glad  to  be 
with  me  and  talk  to  me  :  and  at  the  end  of  six  months  I  was 
actually  startled  to  find  how  much  love  was  bestowed  upon 
me.  Since  then  the  burden  of  my  life  has  been,  not  that 
I  have  so  little  love,  but  so  much  which  I  can  never  de- 
serve." 

"But  lest,  mamma,"  said  Isabella ;  "to  be  loved  best!" 

"  Dear  child,  we  must  talk  of  that  another  time  Here 
is  Lady  Augusta's  carriage ;  only  when  we  give  our  own 
best  love  where  alone  it  is  due,  we  shall  never  complain  that 
it  is  not  returned." 

A  thundering  knock  and  ring  made  Isabella  start  from 
her  seat,  and  rush  away  through  a  door  which  opened  into 
the  dining-room,  just  as  Lady  Augusta  Clare  and  Miss 
Clare  were  announced  in  the  study. 


IVORS.  91 


CHAPTER  X. 

Lady  Augusta's  glance  around  the  small  apartment  was  most 
patronising.    She  was  evidently  in  the  best  possible  humour. 

"  You  really  look  so  extremely  comfortable  here,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Graham  ;  so  usefully  employed.  Quite  a  charming  lit- 
tle room,  isn't  it,  Helen  ?  " 

"  The  room  looks  as  it  always  does,"  said  Helen,  blunt- 
ly ;  but  the  next  moment  she  added,  "  Aunt  Fanny's  rooms 
always  do  look  more  comfortable  than  any  others." 

"I  don't  know  why,  I  am  sure,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  I  never  particularly  piqued  myself  upon  the  art  of 
arranging  furniture.  But  you  are  come  with  good  news,  I 
hear,"  she  continued,  addressing  Lady  Augusta. 

"Yes,  dear  Claude  is  returned  member  for  Eamsay. 
Such  a  delight  to  us !  and  I  thought  I  must  be  the  first  to 
come  and  give  you  the  happy  intelligence.  The  excitement 
has  been  so  great !  too  great  for  dear  Helen  ;  she  looks  quite 
pale." 

"  Because  I  sat  up  late  last  night,  reading,  mamma,"  said 
Helen  ;  "  not  because  I  am  so  tremendously  rejoiced  about 
Claude.  Only  as  an  old  friend,  you  know,  Aunt  Fanny,  one 
is  glad.  And  then  it  has  been  something  to  talk  about,  and 
Ivors  has  been  so  very  dull ;  I  declare  I  think  I  should  like 
to  live  in  a  country  town."  Her  eye  glanced  tow-ards  the 
side  window  of  the  little  study,  from  which  a  view  could  be 
had  of  one  of  the  smaller  streets  of  Wingfield. 

"  You  would  have  pattens  to  listen  to  on  a  wet  day,  and 
muflin-boys'  cries,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "I  don't  know 
whether  you  would  think  them  very  enlivening." 

"I  should  like  them  for  change:  anything  for  that. 
Aunt  Fanny,  where  is  Susan  %  " 


92  ivoes. 

"  In  the  house,  somewhere,  my  love.  I  will  ring,  and 
let  her  know  you  are  here." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  please  don't  ring.  Let  me  go  and 
rind  her ; "  and  Helen  hurried  out  of  the  room,  pleased  as  a 
child  to  be  free  to  find  her  way  over  the  old-fashioned  house, 
and  to  have  the  chance  of  a  conversation  with  Susan  with- 
out observation. 

"  She  is  such  a  strange  child,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  when 
Helen  left  the  room.  "  All  that  indifference  is  merely  put 
on.  But  she  will  not  show  her  feelings  to  any  one,  except 
me.  Between  ourselves,  my  dear  Mrs.  Graham,  she  has 
caused  me  some  anxiety  lately ;  of  course  I  would  not  have 
an  observation  made  for  the  world,  but  her  spirits  have 
drooped,  without  cause  apparently,  or  at  least  any  that  the 
world  would  see.  For  myself,  I  am  only  too  observant ;  but 
we  must  trust  it  will  all  be  right  by  and  by ;  in  fact  I  feel 
convinced  it  will." 

"Helen,  being  an  only  daughter,  may  probably  want 
companionship,"  was  Mrs.  Graham's  matter-of-fact  reply  to 
this  mysterious  speech. 

Lady  Augusta  grew  rather  stiff.  "  I  think  not.  Helen 
has  enough  resources  to  be  sufficient  for  herself.  It  has  been 
my  great  aim  in  her  education ;  and  she  has  no  fancy  for 
society  ;  she  dislikes  it  indeed.  I  had  real  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing her  go  out  in  London.  In  fact,  dear  child !  she  has  my 
taste.  She  much  prefers  scientific  and  literary  pursuits  to 
fashionable  amusements." 

"  She  is  very  simple,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham,  cautiously. 

"  Sweetly  simple  ;"  and  Lady  Augusta's  severity  relaxed. 
"  As  dear  Claude  was  remarking  to  me  only  the  day  before 
he  left  us,  to  go  down  to  Bamsay,  she  is  full  of  impulse,  but 
it  is  all  natural.  You  know  Claude  spent  a  fortnight  with 
us,  just  before  the  election  came  on.  They  saw  a  good  deal 
of  each  other  then.     Boor  fellow!    it  was  a  great  change 


ivoes.  93 

from  Ivors  and  Helen,  to  the  coarseness  and  bustle  of  tho 
election." 

A  light  broke  upon  Mrs.  Graham's  mind.  She  knew 
that  after  the  first  electioneering  plans  were  settled,  Claude 
Egerton  had  been  invited  to  stay  at  Ivors,  and,  as  Lady 
Augusta  said,  had  spent  a  fortnight  there.  But  she  troubled 
herself  very  little  at  any  time  with  Lady  Augusta's  visitors, 
and  had  looked  upon  Claude's  stay  as  a  matter  of  course, 
since  Sir  Henry's  advice  was  likely  to  be  useful  to  him. 
Xow,  she  couhl  not  but  feel  that  some  deeper  interest  was 
concerned ;  and  Lady  Augusta,  it  was  clear,  wished  her  to 
understand  the  case,  though  she  did  not  choose  to  explain 
herself  more  clearly.  Mrs.  Graham  was  not,  however,  to  be 
tempted  to  inquire  more  particularly  into  the  meaning  of 
what  had  been  said,  and  contented  herself  with  remarking 
that  Mr.  Egerton  was  likely  to  be  a  very  hard-working  mem- 
ber of  Parliament,  but  she  scarcely  imagined  he  would  be  an 
eloquent  one. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  should  say  he  doesn't  know  his  own 
powers.  I  have  heard  him  speak  remarkably  well,  when  ex- 
cited. He  requires  a  stimulus,  an  object.  Helen  differed 
from  him  one  night,  and  he  was  quite  brilliant,  and  exceed- 
ingly clever  in  nis  argument.  I  believe  he  entirely  convert- 
ed her ;  not,  perhaps,  that  we  can  consider  such  a  fact  aston- 
isning:"'  and  Lady  Augusta  concluded  her  sentence  with  a 
smile  of  great  meaning. 

Provoking  Mrs.  Graham  still  would  observe  nothing,  and 
Lady  Augusta  continued  :  "  But  I  must  not  forget  one  of  my 
chief  objects  in  calling  this  afternoon,  independent  of  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you.  Sir  Henry  talks  of  having  some  fes- 
tivities in  honour  of  the  new  member,  and  to  celebrate  the 
Conservative  triumph,  and  he  insists  upon  having  you,  and 
the  dear  girls  in  the  house.  1  told  him  I  thought  it  would 
be  impossible  to  persuade  you,  occupied  as  you  are ;  and  now 


94  ivors. 

that  Christmas  is  so  near  at  hand,  and  your  boy  coming 
home  from  school,  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  full  of  difficul- 
ties ;  but  he  insisted  upon  my  coming,  and  of  course  I  was 
only  too  glad ;  I  trust  you  will  think  of  it." 

Mrs.  Graham  was  very  much  obliged,  and  would  think 
of  it.  She  inquired  as  to  the  details  of  times  and  seasons, 
but  found  that  everything  was  unsettled.  Mr.  Egerton 
might  be  kept  at  Eamsay ;  he  might  be  obliged  to  go  to 
town ;  he  might  have  business  at  his  own  place,  Helmsley ; 
everything  must  depend  on  his  movements.  Possibly  any 
entertainments  might  be  deferred  till  after  Christmas.  Lady 
Augusta  was  in  a  complete  maze  of  uncertainty,  took  out 
her  watch,  discovered  that  it  was  extremely  late,  and  was 
impatient  to  return  home.  But  she  was  delighted  to  have 
seen  dear  Mrs.  Graham,  and  hoped  soon  to  have  the  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  the  very  descriptive  letter  which  Mr. 
Egerton  had  written,  giving  an  account  of  the  polling  days, 
and  the  speeches, — a  letter,  she  added,  which  Helen  had 
made  him  promise  to  write  when  he  went  away,  and  which 
really  was  quite  a  treat.  And  then  the  bell  was  rung  for 
Helen. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


Helen  was  not  very  well  versed  in  the  intricacies  of  Wing- 
field  Court,  but  she  had  found  her  way  without  much  difficulty 
through  one  long  passage,  and  down  three  steps,  and  through 
another  short  passage,  to  Susan's  room,  an  irregular-shaped, 
plainly-furnished  little  apartment,  looking  out,  like  the  side 
window  of  the  study,  upon  the  street.  Susan  was  engaged 
with  the  scrap-bag ;  hoards  of  rags  and  pieces  of  linen  were 
turned  out  of  it  upon  the  bed. 

"  My  dear  Susan,  what  are  you  about  1 "  was  Helen's  ex- 


ITOKS.  95 

clamation,  as  she  stumbled  into  the  room  over  a  box  contain- 
ing worn-out  sheets,  which  Susan  had  just  drawn  forth  from 
a  closet. 

"  Preparing  to  keep  a  rag  shop,  you  would  suppose,"  re- 
plied Susan,  throwing  aside  her  scraps,  and  coming  forward 
with  a  cordial  smile  on  her  face,  which  made  Helen,  as  she 
kissed  her,  declare  that  it  was  like  sunshine  to  look  at  her. 
"  I  am  collecting  linen  and  rags  for  my  old  blind  friend  Mrs. 
Lowrie.  She  makes  lint  for  the  infirmary,  and  we  always 
try  to  keep  her  supplied." 

Helen  laughed  heartily.  "  You  are  the  most  absurd  peo- 
ple, my  dear  Susan.  One  would  think  you  had  a  concern 
with  all  the  business  of  all  the  dwellers  on  the  face  of  the 
globe.  We  shall  hear  of  your  making  skins  for  the  Calmuck 
Tartars  next." 

"  Well !  "  said  Susan,  "  if  the  Calmuck  Tartars  settled 
next  door,  I  suppose  we  should  do  our  utmost  to  assist 
them." 

"  0  dear ! "  and  Helen  jumped  upon  the  corner  of  the 
bed,  and  made  a  comfortable  support  to  her  back  with  a 
bundle  of  old  sheets ;  "  this  is  a  very  odd  world  we  live  in. 
Susan,  aren't  you  out  of  your  wits  with  joy  because  Claude 
Egerton  is  member  for  Kamsay  1 " 

"  I  don't  know ; "  and  Susan  put  on  a  look  of  considera- 
tion :  "  I  believe  I  am  very  glad." 

"  Very  glad !  That  isn't  half,  nor  a  quarter  enougn. 
You  are  to  be  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  felicity.  We  all 
are." 

"  I  heard  you  were,"  said  Susan,  a  little  satirically. 

"From  whom?  Oh!  I  know  ;  that  little  tell-tale  Anna. 
She  entrapped  me  into  a  grand  description  of  Claude's 
speech,  and  then  ran  away  and  laughed  at  me." 

"But  you  are  glad  really,  Helen?"  said  Susan,  a  little 
perplexed  at  her  cousin's  manner. 
5 


06  IVORS. 

"  Oh !  of  course.     I  always  am  what  I  ought  to  be." 

"  I  wish  I  could   say  as  much  of  myself,"   said  Susan 
smiling ;  "  but  I  don't  understand  you  now,  Helen,  any  more 
than  I  ever  do." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  should,"  replied  Helen.  "  I  don't 
understand  myself.  The  fact  is,  Susan,  I  believe  I  am 
frightfully  perverse.  When  I  am.  told  I  am  to  be  glad,  I 
am  not  glad  at  all ;  I  am  frozen  up  into  an  icicle.  I  shall 
thaw  again  though  presently." 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  for  Sir  Henry's  sake,"  said  Su- 
san. "  It  is  a  great  deal  his  work,  and  there  are  the  politics 
to  be  considered." 

"  Oh  yes !  the  great  Conservative  triumph !  What  do  I 
care  for  Conservative  triumphs  1  But  I  do  care  for  Claude 
himself, — I  like  Claude  very  much  :  don't  you  %  " 

A  faint,  very  faint  tinge  of  deepening  colour  spread 
itself  over  Susan's  cheek  ;  but  she  answered  without  hesita- 
tion, "  Yes,  I  do  certainly  like  him." 

"  Yes,  I  do  certainly  like  him,"  repeated  Helen,  mimick- 
in°-  her  cousin's  rather  slow  tones.  "Save  me  from  ever 
being  praised  by  you,  Susan  !  Why,  you  ought  to  like  him 
extremely.     He  likes  you." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  Susan  was  seized  with  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion of  the  claims  of  her  scrap-bag,  and  busied  herself  with 
rolling  up  strips  of  linen.  Perhaps  she  might  have  cared  to 
know  how  much  Claude  Egerton  liked  her,  but  Helen  was 
not  communicative. 

"  I  like  him,"  continued  Helen,  following,  as  was  her 
wont,  the  topic  most  agreeable  to  her  own  mind,  "because 
he  makes  one  think :  that  is  more  than  most  people  do.  I 
quarrel  with  him  very  often ;  we  were  always  quarrelling 
when  he  was  last  at  Ivors.  I  dare  say  it  was  my  own  fault. 
Susan,  dear,  I  wish  I  was  as  good  as  you  are." 


ivoes;  97 

"  When  you  are  wishing,  wish  for  something  better  than 
that." 

"  Xo ;  I  should  be  quite  contented.  It  would  give  me 
just  the  pleasant,  comfortable  opinion  of  myself  that  I  want. 
Let  me  have  some  of  those  strips,  like  a  good  child.  I  can't 
bear  to  see  you  making  a  martyr  of  yourself  over  them." 

"  You  won't  know  what  to  do  with  them,"  said  Susan. 
"  I  venture  to  say  you  never  rolled  up  a  strip  of  linen  in 
your  life." 

"  It  is  time  I  should  learn  then.  Claude  says  there  is  a 
good  deal  to  be  learnt  in  the  world.  I  believe  he  thinks  that 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  I  were  to  set  about  learning." 

"  I  should  agree  with  him,"  said  Susan,  archly. 

':  Don't  preach.  I  am  not  in  the  humour  to-day.  I  only 
like  being  preached  to  on  wet  days.  The  words  drop  then 
like  the  rain  on  the  ground ;  it  all  suits.  I  think,  Susan, 
Claude  means  to  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Hume." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Susan,  without  raising  her  eyes  from 
her  work. 

"  Very  likely !  Susan,  you  are  enough  to  provoke  a 
saint.  Prosy,  plain,  particular,  pertinacious,  provoking  Miss 
Hume !  It  would  be  a  crying  sin.  I  declare,  when  I  saw 
him  bring  her  in  flowers  to  copy,  and  offer  to  cut  her  pencils, 
I  used  to  run  away,  it  made  me  so  angry.  And  very  wrong 
it  was  of  him,  too !  Lady  Hume  took  it  all  in,  and  consid- 
ers it  a  settled  thing.  I  wouldn't  answer  for  it,  that  she  is 
not  at  this  very  moment  ordering  the  trousseau." 

"  So  absurd  you  are,  Helen  !  why  shouldn't  a  gentleman 
bring  flowers  for  a  lady  to  copy,  and  cut  her  pencils  for  her, 
likes  it  7" 

"  Oh  !  but  it  was  all  done  in  that  particular  way, — 
Claude  Egerton's  way.  I  wish  you  could  see  and  hear  him 
as  1  do.  That  quiet  tone,  deferential,  considerate, — moving 
rose-leaves  out  of  your  way,  lest   you    should  stumble  over 


D8  ivoes. 

them.  Not  out  of  my  way,  though.  He  is  always  at  dag- 
gers drawn  with  me." 

"  No  wonder,  if  you  talk  in  the  wild  way  to  him  that 
you  do  to  me,"  replied  Susan. 

"  You  don't  think  I  would  venture  ?  No,  I  assure  you, 
I  am  the  very  pattern  of  propriety  with  him  ;  except, — every 
now  and  then,  I  like  to  startle  him.  We  argued  for  an  hour, 
one  night.  Mamma  thought  he  had  converted  me ;  not  at 
all — I  was  of  his  opinion  at  the  beginning,  only  I  chose  to 
contradict  him." 

"  He  will  soon  he  up  to  that,"  said  Susan  ;  "  he  is  quick 
enough." 

"  Will  he  ?  I  don't  care.  It  is  all  in  the  way  of  amuse- 
ment ;"  and  Helen  sighed.  "  What  do  you  do  for  amuse- 
ment, Susan  ?  " 

"  I  have  so  little  time  for  it,"  replied  Susan,  "  I  don't 
quite  know.     There  is  always  something  when  I  want  it." 

"  And  time  seems  to  me  so  long.  That  is  one  of  the 
points  Claude  and  I  can  never  agree  upon.  He  says  there  is 
so  much  to  do  in  the  world,  and  I  say  I  never  can  find  it 
out.  Would  he  approve  of  rolling  up  strips  of  linen,  do  you 
think?" 

"  You  can  try ;  take  home  some." 

"  I  would :  you  may  laugh,  Susan  ;  hut  if  it  was  to  do 
you  any  good,  I  would." 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  sure  you  would.  But  what  if  it  was 
to  do  some  one  else  good  "? " 

"  CJa  depend  !  Perhaps  I  shouldn't  like  the  person.  I 
can't  work  for  any  one  I  don't  like." 

"  My  strips  are  for  old  Mrs.  Lowrie,"  said  Susan. 

"  Or  the  Queen  of  the  Sandwich  Islands !  "  exclaimed 
Helen.     "  What  do  I  know  about  old  Mrs.  Lowrie?  " 

Susan  shook  her  head.  "  Ivors  spoils  you,  Helen.  I  tell 
you  so  often." 


ivors.  9  9 

"And  Claude  says  the  same,"  replied  Helen,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Most  likely  then  it  is  true." 

"  Most  likely.  You  are  hoth  excellent  people.  I  have 
the  greatest  possible  respect  for  you." 

"  Only  you  -won't  listen  to  us." 

"  I  don't,  on  principle.  The  world  would  be  so  dull  if 
every  one  was  good."  The  drawing-room  bell  rang,  and 
Helen  started  up.  "A  summons  forme!  Susan,  we  have 
not  said  anything  interesting.  I  meant  to  say  a  good  leal. 
"When  will  you  come  to  Ivors  ?  " 

"  When  I  am  asked,  and  when  mamma  will  spare  me." 

"  Claude  will  be  back  soon.  There  are  to  be  great  fes- 
tivities, poor  people's  dinners,  school  tea-drinkings.  I  would 
rather  have  you  all  to  myself." 

"  So  would  I ; — for  some  reasons,"  was  added  in  a  lower 
tone. 

"  I  should  be  a  changed  person,  if  I  could  stay  a  month 
in  the  house  with  you,  Susan,"  continued  Helen. 

"  Then  I  hope  you  never  will.  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  be 
changed,  except  in  some  things." 

"  Exceptions  more  numerous  than  the  rule.  You  would 
do  more  for  me  than  Claude.     He  looks  down  upon  me." 

"  Oh,  no.     Impossible !  " 

"  He  does.  He  ifi  right,  too.  Susan,  do  you  know  I  am 
sure  I  shall  never  marry.  I  should  die  of  a  good  man,  and 
I  could  never  be  happy  with  a  bad  one." 

"  Apropos  to  Mr.  Egcrton  ? "  asked  Susan,  laughing. 

Helen  laughed  too.  "Not  quite;  only  one  day  some- 
thing somebody  said  put  it  into  my  head."  Helen  jumped 
down  from  the  bed,  unrolling  several  of  Susan's  strips  of 
linen,  and  ran  down  stairs. 


100  IVORS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Lady  Augusta  went  home  satisfied  ;  having  managed  a  dif- 
ficult piece  of  domestic  diplomacy.  She  had  given  Sir  Hen- 
ry's family  invitation,  so  as  to  ease  her  conscience,  yet  at  the 
same  time  leave  an  opening  for  limiting  it  if  it  should  he 
found  desirahle.  But  she  had  done  more  than  this.  Mrs. 
Graham  might  feign  not  to  understand  her  meaning ;  hut 
Lady  Augusta  felt  that  she  had  dropped  a  seed  which  could 
not  fail  to  take  root.  Without  committing  herself  to  any 
assertions,  she  had  given  the  idea  that  there  was  at  least  a 
mutual  feeling  of  more  than  liking  hetwen  Claude  and 
Helen,  and  this  would,  she  well  knew,  he  quite  sufficient 
to  engage  all  Mrs.  Graham's  interest  for  Helen,  and  prevent 
the  possihility  of  any  rivalry  springing  up  with  Susan.  For 
Lady  Augusta  thought  of  everything,  was  on  her  guard 
against  everything,  which  might  interfere  with  her  favourite 
project.  Scheming  herself,  she  gave  others  credit  for  heing 
scheming  likewise.  The  possibility  that  Claude  might  he 
attracted  by  Susan,  had  never  left  her  mind  since  the  day 
when  they  sat  together  at  dinner,  and  she  had  remarked  their 
confidential  tone.  What  more  desirahle  for  Susan  !  What 
more  likely  to  he  the  aim  of  a  person  in  Mrs.  Graham's  cir- 
cumstances %  Well-horn,  well-educated — hut  poor,  and  hav- 
ing very  little  opportunity  for  bringing  her  daughters  into 
notice,  and  settling  them,  as  it  is  called,  advantageously  in 
life.  Lady  Augusta  did  not,  as  many  less  politic  tacticians 
might  have  done,  seek  to  destroy  any  rising  interest  in 
Claude's  mind  by  observations  detracting  from  Susan's  mer- 
its. "  If  you  wish  to  make  people  fall  in  love,  talk  about 
them  to  each  other ;  praise  or  dispraise,  it  is  all  the  same," 
was  her  maxim :  and  acting  upon  this,  she  never  mentioned 
Susan's  name  to  Claude,  even  to  find  fault  with  her.     But 


IVOES.  101 

she  determined  upon  a  course  likely  to  be  more  efficacious, — 
that  of  so  preparing  and  preoccupying  the  minds  of  Mrs. 
Graham  and  Susan,  that  they  might  as  by  instinct  keep 
themselves  in  the  background,  and  leave  Claude  and  Helen 
together. 

For  Lady  Augusta  laughed  at  Mrs.  Graham,  patronised, 
and  pretended  to  look  down  upon  her,  but  she  implicitly 
trusted  her.  No  worldly  prospect  would,  she  knew,  for  a 
, moment  tempt  her  to  place  the  advantage  jf  her  own  child 
in  competition  with  the  happiness  of  another.  Once  give 
her  the  idea  that  there  was  any  feeling  of  regard  between 
Claude  and  Helen,  and  if  it  had  been  the  dearest  wish  of 
Mrs.  Graham's  heart  which  was  to  be  sacrificed  to  further 
their  interests,  it  would  be  given  without  the  hesitation  of 
a  moment.  So  also  as  regarded  Susan  :  let  her  consider  the 
engagement  as  likely,  and  any  fear  of  rivalry  would  at  once 
be  at  an  end.  Claude  would  be  an  object  of  indifference, 
and  the  indifference  would  show  itself  in  her  manner  and 
conversation.  And  then  ; — Lady  Augusta  knew  Claude 
Egerton  well, — slow  to  believe  himself  liked ;  proud,  so  that 
he  would  never  trust  himself  to  the  risk  of  rejection ;  need- 
ing, as  reserved  people  generally  do,  the  fascination  of  ease 
and  animation  to  unlock  the  portals  of  his  own  affections, 
Susan  would  be  nothing  to  him.  Lady  Augusta's  self-con- 
gratulations when  she  readied  Ivors,  and  retired  to  her  own 
room  to  meditate  upon  her  morning's  work,  were  by  no 
means  few. 

And  how  little  Claude  Egerton  knew  or  thought  of  all 
these  manoeuvres !  He  was,  so  he  would  certainly  have  said 
himself,  aot  at  all  in  love,  and  not  in  the  least  intending  to 
be  so.  He  had  spent  a  fortnight  wilh  Helen;  but  what  was 
the  acquaintance  of  a  fortnight  when  the  qonsequen.ee  was  to 
he  a  question  of  years  1  Perhaps  he  rather  piqued  himself 
upon  his  prudence  and  stoicism,  and  knowing  that  a  quick 


102  IVORS. 

appreciation  of  beauty,  both  in  nature  and  art,  was  likely  to 
be  a  snare  to  him,  was  peculiarly  on  his  guard  against  it. 
A  beautiful  person  came  before  him  to  a  certain  extent  at  a 
disadvantage ;  he  suspected  vanity,  and  dreaded  frivolity ; 
and  there  might  have  been  a  little  self-satisfaction  (for 
Claude  was  but  human)  in  the  feeling  which  had  induced 
him  to  leave  Helen,  with  her  beauty  and  talents,  to  gather 
flowers  and  cut  pencils  for  plain,  uninteresting  Miss  Hume. 
The  last  suspicion  which  would  have  crossed  his  mind  was 
that  of  having  a  shade  of  feeling  for  Helen  beyond  that  of 
friendship  because  he  had  known  her  from  a  child. 

Alas  for  Claude !  he  was  in  the  meshes  of  the  spider's 
web,  and  in  all  the  greater  danger  because  he  felt  himself 
secure. 

The  election  was  over  ;  the  honourable  member  for  Eam- 
say  duly  chaired.  Dinners  had  been  eaten,  healths  drunk, 
speeches  made,  the  free  and  independent  voters  were  left  to 
talk  over  the  events  of  the  war,  and  the  ancient  borough- 
town  returned  to  its  pristine  state  of  dulness.  Mr.  Egerton 
remained  for  more  than  a  month  at  his  own  place — Helms- 
ley, — superintending  and  arranging,  forming  plans  for  his 
tenants,  looking  over  his  farms  ;  till  within  a  week  of  Christ- 
mas. Then  l.e  departed,  for  Christmas  was  to  be  spent  at 
Ivors. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  in  the  prospect. 
Helmsley,  indted,  was  a  much  finer  place  than  Ivors,  but 
there  was  no  companionship  in  the  magnificent  painted  walls 
and  broad  staircases — the  suites  of  splendid  rooms, — the 
rare  pictures, — the  gorgeous  but  old-fashioned  furniture.  He 
might  fill  his  house  with  his  gentlemen-friends  ;  but  Claude 
Egerton  could  not  live  only  with  men.  They  had  no  power 
to  draw  him  out  of  himself.  They  could  only  touch  the  sur- 
face of  his  heart ;  and  underneath  there  lay  a  deep,  deep 
well  of  passionate  feeling,  which  had  never  yet  been  fully 


ITOKS. 


103 


sounded,  but  which  at  times,  -when  stirred  by  the  power  of 
music  or  of  poetry,  he  had  striven  to  fathom,  and  started 
back  alarmed  at  the  capacity  of  happiness  or  of  misery  which 
it  revealed  to  him.  Man's  society  and  man's  affection  would 
never  reach  the  sources  of  that  well ;  and  Claude,  even  when 
he  mingled  with  men,  and  shared  their  pursuits,  and  threw 
himself  with  all  the  ardour  of  his  character  into  the  work 
which  he  shared  in  common  with  them,  never  found  his  hap- 
piness amongst  them.  Early  recollections  of  domestic  life 
haunted  him.*  He  longed  for  the  ties  of  home,  such  as  in  his 
childish  memories  they  appeared  to  him ;  and,  whilst  dread- 
ing to  risk  their  real  loss  by  a  rash  step,  he  yet  found  com- 
fort in  anything  which  gave  him  the  semblance  of  the  life 
for  which  he  yearned.  So,  although  still  distrusting  Lady 
Augusta,  he  was  happy  at  Ivors,  because  she  was  to  him 
kind  and  soothing ;  and  caring,  as  he  supposed,  nothing  for 
Helen,  he  felt  pleasure  in  her  society,  because  she  was  grace- 
ful and  winning  in  manners,  pleasant  in  conversation,  and 
feminine  in  taste.  She  assisted  to  fill  up  the  space  which 
was  one  day  to  be  occupied  by  the  perfection  of  his  ideal. 
For  Claude  had  his  ideal,  as  most  persons  have.  The  recol- 
lection of  his  mother  was  its  basis ;  but  it  was  built  up  after 
his  own  fancy, — not  quite  a  compound  of  superhuman  vir- 
tues a^d  faultless  beauty,  but  something  very  nearly  ap- 
proaching to  it, — something  which,  if  it  must  have  failings, 
would  at  least  not  have  those  likely  to  clash  with  his  own 
peculiarities,  and  which  certainly  should  not  have  been 
formed  under  the  training  of  any  person  whom  the  Admiral 
could  designate  as  hollow-hearted; 

Strange  it  is  how  weak  we  all  are  in  the  point  on  which 
we  think,  and  perhaps  truly,  that  we  are  strong!  One  of 
the  great  objects  of  Claude  Egerton's  self-discipline  was  to 
keep  himself  free  from  prejudice ;  and  yet  that  one  observa- 
tion made  by  his  guardian  had  lingered  by  him,  and   intlu- 


I    I  ivor.-. 

enced  his  judgment,  and  distorted  his  perception  until,  per- 
haps he  was  the  very  last  person  competent  to  give  a  fair 
opinion  of  Helen's  character. 

Yet  she  interested  him ; — he  allowed  that  to  himself, — 
and  felt  all  the  more  secure  because  he  could  so  do.  She 
was  continually  unfolding  some  new  phase  of  mind,  and  thus 
stimulating  his  curiosity.  He  could  not  make  her  out.  She 
was  paradoxical, — uncertain.  There  seemed  really,  at  times. 
a  great  deal  of  good  in  her,  but  then  it  was  so  little  to  be 
depended  on.  He  thought  much  about  her,  in  that  calm, 
speculative  way  in  which  he  had  accustomed  himself  to  think 
of  most  women,  even  whilst  the  preparations  for  his  election- 
business  were  engrossing  his  time :  and  now,  when  it  was 
all  over,  and  he  was  preparing  for  rest  and  recreation,  he 
thought  still  more.  But  the  meditations  were  considered 
perfectly  safe.  Claude  Egertcn  was  not  conceited  about 
most  things,  but  he  undoubtedly  had  too  good  an  opinion  of 
himself  to  imagine  that  he  could  be  attracted  merely  by 
beauty  and  an  undisciplined  mind. 

And  in  that  state  of  feeling  he  set  off  for  Ivors,  on  a 
bleak,  snowy  morning  in  December ;  having  a  journey  of 
some  fifty  miles  before  him,  partly  to  be  made  by  railway, 
partly  by  one  of  those  remnants  of  bygone  days,  a  stage- 
y  and  comfortable  enough  it  was  to  wrap  him- 
self in  his  plaid,  and  place  himself  in  the  corner  of  the  rail- 
way carriage,  his  lips  hermetically  sealed  against  conversa- 
tion, and  ruminate  upon  the  occurrences  of  the  last  few 
weeks  ;  and  if  this  alone  had  been  his  mode  of  locomotion, 
the  fifty  miles  might  have  been  a  hundred,  and  he  would 
have  little  cared.  But  the  railway  transit  ended  most  un- 
fortunately soon,  and  then  came  a  lonsr  delay  in  the  old- 
fashioned  inn  of  an  old-fashioned  town  ;  the  room  into  which 
he  was  shown  dulled  with  smoke,  the  fire  decaying, — nothing 
to  be  heard  but  the  roll  of  an  occasional  cart,  crashing:  its 


ITOES.  105 

way  over  the  half-melted,  dirty  ice  in  the  road  ;  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  the  straggling  rays  of  the  December  sun,  mak- 
ing only  more  visible  the  streaks  in  the  window  pane,  and 
the  dust  on  the  faded  crimson  drugget  which  covered  the 
floor. 

The  coach  would  not  start  for  an  hour  and  a  half. 
Claude  ordered  a  mutton  chop  and  some  sherry, — wandered 
out  into  the  town,  lionised  a  grand  old  church,  and  mourned 
and  moralised  over  the  church-warden  glories  of  high  pews 
and  heavy  galleries ;  returned  to  the  inn  and  ate  his  mut- 
ton chop,  and  drank  as  much  of  the  sour  sherry  as  he  thought 
sufficient  to  satisfy  the  landlady's  feelings;  paid  his  bill, 
looked  again  despairingly  out  of  the  window,  and  thought 
the  hour  and  a  half  the  longest  he  had  ever  known  ;  medita- 
ted upon  a  fly,  and  gave  up  the  notion  when  the  snow  came 
down  ;  and  at  length,  precisely  as  the  clock  struck  three,  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  lumbering  vehicle  round, 
though  with  diflicultv,  the  angle  of  entrance  intc  t*ne  inn 
yard,  and  draw  up  in  front  of  the  Black  Eagle.  The  inside 
was  empty ;  that  was  no  slight  consolation  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. Claude  took  his  seat,  devoutly  hoping  that  no 
other  traveller,  equally  venturous  with  himself,  would  be 
found  ready  to  trust  to  the  comforts  of  a  three-horse  coach, 
when  the  snow  was  already  in  many  places  some  inches 
deep,  and  might  probably  be  many  more  before  night  closed 
in.  On  rolled  the  wheels  along  the  broad  high  road,  with  a 
slow,  proud  pace,  such  as  became  a  vehicle  whose  ancestry 
dated  from  the  far-famed  fly  coach  which  first  started  for 
London  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  occupying  three  days 
on  the  road,  and  requiring  its  passengers  to  take  their  places 
over  night,  that  they  might  be  ready  to  set  oft'  at  daybreak. 
Claude  gazed  drearily  out  of  the  window  upon  the  broad 
white  fields,  the  speckled  hedges,  and  the  trees  standing  out 
clearly  pencilled  against  the  leaden  sky,  and  felt  as  though 


106  .  IVOKS. 

ho  were  in  a  new  and  unreal  world, — a  world  in  which  he 
could  he  a  spectator  only,  never  an  actor ;  and  his  mind, 
usually  so  active,  sunk  into  torpor;  whilst,  instead  of  carry- 
ing his  thoughts  on  to  the  busy  future,  upon  which  he  had  now 
pledged  himself  to  enter,  he  suffered  it  to  rest  in  the  mere 
perception  of  the  ceaseless  fall  of  the  thick  snow-flakes,  giv- 
ing him  the  pleasant  sensation  of  life  without  effort,  and 
movement  without  obstacle. 

Many  miles  were  traversed  in  this  way :  lonely  cottages 
seemed  to  glide  by ;  still,  silent  villages,  marked  by  grey 
church  towers ;  long  Tanges  of  downs  ;  here  and  there  a 
gentleman's  house  in  a  park.  Claude  grew  more  awake : 
they  were  approaching  Wing-field,  and  he  looked  out  for 
Mrs.  Graham's  house ;  but  he  could  only  guess  where  it 
would  be,  for  it  was  too  dark  to  see  distinctly.  It  was 
pleasant  to  him  to  have  any  object  of  local  interest,  and 
Mrs.  Graham  was  a  person  peculiarly  attractive  to  him  ;  much 
more  so  than  her  children  ;  she  had  so  much  more  anima- 
tion. He  was  leaning  rather  forward,  gazing  from  the 
window,  when  a  sudden  stop  in  the  progress  of  the  coach 
threw  him  back  upon  his  seat.  It  was  not  a  coach  acci- 
dent, the  horses  were  standing  perfectly  still ;  but  the  coach- 
man was  calling  in  loud  tones  to  some  one  in  the  road : 
"Here's  a  business;  tell  us  what's  the  matter  %"  and  the 
guard  called  also,  and  a  man's  leg  protruded  itself  over  the 
window,  as  the  individual  to  whom  it  belonged  bent  him- 
self over  the  rail  of  the  coach  to  look  at  some  dark  object  in 
the  road.  Claude  pushed  open  the  door,  and  asked  for  in- 
formation, but  could  obtain  no  reply  except  a  low  moan.  He 
jumped  out,  and  the  guard  at  the  same  moment  let  himself 
down  from  the  top.  "  She's  got  a  knock,  sir,  I'm  afraid  ;  a 
good  job  it  aint  no  worse."  A  young  girl  was  lying  on  the 
ground ;  Claude  tried  to  raise  her  up ;  she  moved,  but 
seemed  in   pain.      "'Twas  a  near  job  we  hadn't  run  over 


IVORS. 


107 


her,"  said  the  guard  ;  "  she  was  right  in  the  way.  Get  lip, 
my  good  creature ;  'tis  hut  a  hruise  after  all ; "  and  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  assist  her,  whilst  Claude  knelt  on 
the  ground  and  put  his  arm  round  the  girl  to  support  her. 
In  endeavouring  to  avoid  the  coach,  her  foot  had  slipped, 
and  her  head  falling  against  a  stone,  she  was  partially 
stunned.  The  coachman,  impatient  at  delay,  comforted 
himself  by  declaring  his  conviction  that  "  she  would  soon  do 
perfectly  well ;  if  there  were  no  hones  broke  she'd  come 
quite  to  hefself  in  another  second  or  two;  if  the  gentlemen 
liked  it  they  might  try  to  get  her  inside,  and  take  her  on  to 
Wingfield : "  and  Claude  and  the  guard  raised  the  girl  in 
their  arms,  and  placed  her  in  the  coach.  Claude  took  off  his 
plaid  and  made  a  pillow  for  her  head ;  and  when  he  found 
that  the  motion  of  the  coach  gave  her  pain,  made  her  rest 
her  foot  on  the  opposite  seat.  He  had  a  woman's  gentleness 
of  manner  towards  anything  suffering  and  in  distress ;  and 
the  girl,  soothed  by  his  consideration,  recovered  herself  after 
a  time  sufficiently  to  talk  to  him.  "  Her  name  was  Hope," 
she  said,  "  Kate  Hope.  She  had  just  come  from  staying  with 
an  aunt ;  she  was  lame,  and  had  been  lame  a  long  time ; 
that  was  the  cause  of  her  fall.  She  had  been  brought  by  a 
cart  to  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  Wingfield,  and  had  set 
off  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  distance.  She  was  going  that 
night  to  Mrs.  Graham's ;  she  was  to  stay  there  for  a 
week,  because  it  was  Christmas.  Mrs.  Graham  and  the 
young  ladies  had  always  been  her  friends;"  and  she  went 
on  to  describe  their  unceasing  little  acts  of  kindness,  carried 
on  for  years,  in  a  simple  way,  full  of  gratitude,  but  as  if  she 
had  never  been  made  to  feel  the  burden  of  obligation. 

Claude  liked  to  hear  it ;  it  was  just  the  sort  of  kindness 
which  pleased  him, — unpretending  and  untiring.  He  ques- 
tioned the  girl  more  closely,  and  found  that  her  father  was 
one  of  Sir  Henry  Clare's  tenants,  a  labourer  on  his  estate. 


108  IVORS. 

"Lady  Augusta,"  she  said,  "had  been  very  good  to  her 
mother  when  she  was  ill  with  rheumatic  fever,  the  house- 
keeper had  sent  some  broth  twice  a  week,  and  Miss  Graham 
had  several  times  given  her  half-a-crown  from  Miss  Clare, 
but  she  had  never  spoken  either  to  Lady  Augusta  or  the 
young  lady."  There  was  nothing  like  complaint  in  her  tone 
when  she  said  this ;  she  evidently  thought  that  Lady  Au- 
gusta was  moving  in  a  sphere  beyond  her  rank,  and  could 
not  be  expected  to  notice  her.  But  she  turned  from  her  to 
talk  of  Mrs.  Graham,  with  an  eagerness  which  proved  how 
near  the  subject  was  to  her  heart. 

"  The  young  woman  is  to  stop  at  Mrs.  Gralam's,  isn't  she, 
sir  1 "  said  the  guard,  coming  to  the  window,  as  the  coach 
drew  up  in  front  of  the  iron  gates. 

"  Yes  ;  is  this  Mrs.  Graham's  1  Stay,  I  will  get  out  and 
help  her ;"  and  Claude  made  the  guard  move  aside  whilst  he 
carefully  assisted  Kate.  It  was  a  matter  of  difficulty,  for 
her  lame  leg  gave  her  a  good  deal  of  pain.  Claude  could 
not  allow  her  to  walk  up  to  the  house  by  herself.  He  called 
to  the  coachman,  "  Take  my  luggage  on  to  the  Lodge  at 
Ivors,  and  leave  it  there  ;  I  shall  walk  ;  now  lean  upon  me :  " 
and  he  made  Kate  rest  upon  his  arm,  hastily  paid  his  fare,  and 
the  coach  drove  off.  The  poor  girl  was  too  bewildered  by 
pain  to  know  exactly  how  much  she  had  to  be  thankful  for, 
though  she  did  try  to  murmur  something  about  "giving 
trouble,"  and  "  very  kind."  Claude  was  almost  afraid  that 
she  would  faint  before  she  reached  the  house ;  but  by  slow 
and  cautious  steps  he  managed  at  length  to  bring  her  to  the 
front  door,  when  he  delivered  her  into  the  care  of  the  ser- 
vant, and  went  himself  to  give  an  account  of  his  errand  to 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"  My  mistress  and  the  young  ladies  are  in  the  study, 
sir,"  said  the  servant,  as  she  led  Kate  away  to  the  kitchen. 
Mr.  Egerton  was  no  stranger  to  her ;  if  he  had  been,  she 


IVORS.  109 

would  have  felt  then  that  Kate  had  the  first  claim  upon  her. 
Servants  invariably  take  their  tone  from  their  masters  and 
mistresses,  and  Mrs.  Graham's  Martha  had  been  taught  con- 
sideration for  suffering  by  nine  years  of  service.  Claude 
passed  through  the  little  hall,  lighted  by  a  small  lamp,  and 
turning  to  the  right,  knocked  at  the  study  door.  A  cheerful 
though  rather  surprised,  "  Come  in,"  answered  him.  A  more 
bright  and  peaceful  home  party  could  scarcely  have  been 
seeii.  The  little  room,  with  the  blazing  fire,  the  lamp,  the 
crimson  furniture,  and  the  well-filled  book  shelves,  was  most 
cheering  to  the  eye,  after  the  white  deso'ation  of  the  snowy 
fields.  Isabella  was  sitting  on  a  low  chair  near  her  mother, 
reading  aloud  :  Anna  copying  music  ;  Susan  and  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham working.  A  few  flowers,  a  present  probably  from  the 
Ivors  greenhouse,  were  on  the  table,  looking  peculiarly  love- 
ly, as  flowers  always  do  by  lamplight ;  and  one  of  Stosan's 
drawings,  a  small  copy  of  a  child's  head  from  a  foreign 
print,  had  been  placed  near  them,  to  bs  admired,  no  doubt, 
by  her  mother  and  sisters. 

Claude  felt,  what  he  had  no  time  to  ponder  upon,  the 
atmosphere  of  peace,  simplicity,  and  reality,  which  always 
pervaded  Mrs.  Graham's  house.  His  arrival,  however,  dis- 
turbed it.  Mrs.  Graham  welcomed  him  cordially,  but  hur- 
riedly;  she  felt  there  must  be  something  amiss  to  bring  him 
there. 

His  explanation  was  soon  made;  and  even  before  it  was 
ended,  Susan  was  leaving  the  room  to  look  after  Kate's 
comfort. 

"  She  can  be  put  into  the  little  blue  room,  Susan,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham;  "not  Martha's,  it  will  be  cold.  Tell  them  to 
light  a  fire  there,  and  you  can  carry  that  small  easy  chair 
into  the  kitchen,  for  her  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes  till  the 
room  is  ready.  I  will  be  with  her  directly.  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Efferton,"  as  Claude  offered  to  take  the  chair  himself ; 


110  ivoits. 

•'  Susan  will  carry  it  easily,  it  is  very  light ; "  and  Susan, 
laughingly,  insisted  upon  taking  the  burden  upon  herself, 
and  went  away. 

"  I  didn't  know  whether  I  could  do  anything  else  for 
you,"  said  Claude;  "whether,  if  it  should  prove  a  bad  inju- 
ry, the  girl  had  better  be  taken  to  the  infirmary ;  or,  per- 
haps, I  could  give  some  message  to  a  surgeon." 

"  Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind ;  I  don't  think  the  in- 
firmary will  do.  Poor  child !  she  has  come  here  to  spend 
her  Christmas.  We  couldn't  send  her  away  ;  we  shall  man- 
age very  well  with  her ;  we  are  all  rather  accustomed  to 
nursing ;  the  surgeon,  too,  lives  just  across  the  street,  so  that 
if  we  want  him  we  can  send  for  him  without  difficulty.  You 
have  given  yourself  quite  trouble  enough  already.  How  do 
you  mean  to  go  on  to  Ivors  %  " 

"  Walk,  I  think  ;  it  is  little  more  than  a  couple  of  miles." 

"  In  the  snow  ?  and  so  cold !  " 

"  It  is  not  snowing  now ;  it  wras  not,  at  least,  when  I 
came  in,  and  I  have  had  enough  of  carriages  to-day.  I  shall 
be  in  time  for  dinner  at  Ivors.  They  never  sit  down  till 
seven." 

" It  is  past  six,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  ;  "if  you  are  going, 
I  must  be  uncivil  enough  to  say  that  you  had  better  set  off." 

"  Yes  ;  "  but  Claude  lingered  still ;  probably  the  warmth 
of  the  fire  was  his  attraction. 

Susan  came  back  again.  "  Mamma,  Martha  and  I  have 
moved  Kate  into  the  dining-room,  and  put  her  upon  the  lit- 
tle sofa  till  her  room  was  ready.  Cook's  brother  was  in  the 
kitchen,  and  it  wasn't  quite  comfortable  for  her.  We  made 
her  take  off  her  boot,  and  she  has  one  of  my  slippers  on. 
She  seems  better  now,  and  Martha  is  going  to  get  her  some 
tea." 

"A  change  from  the  high  road  and  the  snow!"  said 
Claude. 


IVORS.  Ill 

"  Poor  Kate !  I  am  so  sorry  for  her  !  "  continued  Susan. 
"  She  has  been  looking  forward  so  to  this  visit !  But  she 
says  she  doesn't  care  for  anything  now  she  is  here.  How 
vexed  Miss  Harvey  will  be  about  it  too,  mamma  !  She  had 
quite  set  her  heart  upon  seeing  Kate  to-morrow." 

"  It  is  unfortunate  ;  but  really,  Mr.  Egerton,  you  must  go.'' 

"  You  are  going  to  Ivors,  I  suppose?  "  said  Susan. 

"  Yes,  to  walk  there.     Have  you  any  commands  ?  " 

"  Only  my  love  to  Helen,  and  I  will  come  over  to  see 
her  the  firstr  day  I  can, — that  is,  if  the  house  is  not  filled 
with  grand  visitors :  if  it  is,  she  must  come  and  see  me." 

"  She  will  have  to  entertain  her  visitors,"  said  Claude. 

"  That  is  Lady  Augusta's  business,  and  Helen  always 
manages  to  have  her  time  free.  She  has  been  so  busy  with 
her  drawing  lately,  and  done  such  beautiful  things."  Susan 
looked  at  Claude  with  a  pleased  expression  of  face,  as 
though  certain  that  she  had  said  something  very  agreeable ; 
but  he  did  not  appear  to  notice  her  remark. 

"  You  will  try  and  see  the  Admiral  to-morrow,  I  dare 
say  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  He  has  been  looking  anxiously 
fur  you." 

"I  had  thought  of  going  to  the  Lodge  first,  but  Sir 
Henry  put  so  many  reasons  before  me,  I  couldn't  very  well 
say  no  to  him." 

"  Sir  Henry,  I  am  sure,  could  not  possibly  do  without 
you,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Nor  Lady  Augusta,  nor  any  of  them,"  exclaimed  Su- 
san.    "  Everything  has  been  put  off  till  Mr.  Egerton  came." 

"  Has  it  1  They  are  very  good  !  "  Claude  spoke  ab- 
stractedly, and  took  up  his  hat.  "  I  shall  come  and  inquire 
after  your  invalid  to-morrow." 

"Kate  won't  thank  you  for  calling  her  an  invalid,"  said 
Susan.  "She  thinks  nothing  of  her  lameness;  and  I  don't 
really  think  the  bruise  is  very  much." 


112  IVOKS. 

Claude  did  not  insist  then  upon  coming  the  next  day. 
He  turned  away  from  Susan,  and  wished  Mrs.  Graham  good 
aighit. 

Just  at  that  instant  Martha  came  into  the  room,  beg- 
ging to  speak  to  Miss  Graham ;  and  Susan  bade  Claude  a 
very  hurried  good-bye,  with  her  head  full  of  other  things, 
and  hastened  away.     Claude  departed  also. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Susan,  when  she  happened  to  be  alone 
with  her  mother  in  the  study,  about  half-an-hour  afterwards, 
"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Egerton  was  in  snch  baste  to  be  at  Ivors, 
as  I  should  have  expected." 

•'  His  mind  was  pre-occupicd,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 
"  He  was  thinking  what  he  could  do  for  Kate." 

"  Helen  wouldn't  approve  of  that  cold  way  he  puts  on 
when  he  speaks  of  her,"  said  Susan.  "  Mamma,  I  hope 
Lady  Augusta  is  not  wrong." 

"  She  takes  care  not  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  She 
has  never  told  me  anything, — only  implied  it." 

"  But  it  would  be  very  terrible  for  Helen,  if  he  is  cold," 
said  Susan.  "  If  she  cares  for  him,  that  is — but  I  don't 
know, — I  don't  understand  it." 

"  I  dare  say  they  will  manage  their  little  affairs  very 
well,  whether  we  understand  them  or  not,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  Probably  they  don't  quite  know  their  own  minds 
yet." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  think  Mamma,  do    women 

ever  care  for  men  who  don't  care  for  them  ?  "  Susan  looked 
at  her  mother  very  earnestly. 

"  Sometimes  ;  not  often,  we  may  hope." 

"  It  would  be  so  sad, — so  lowering,  humiliating :  "  and 
Susan  shuddered. 

"  Sad,  my  child,  not  humiliating.  There  is  nothing 
really  humiliating  but  that  which  is  sinful." 

"  Oh,  mamma !  yes — yes.     To  feel  that  one  had  thrown 


IVORS.  113 

away  one's  affection, — that  one  had  offered  it  even  in 
thought,  and  heen  rejected !  It  would  lie  on  my  heart  and 
crush  me."  Susan  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  for  a  moment  with  eagerness,  and  then  became  dim 
with  proud  tears. 

Her  mother  drew  her  towards  her  and  kissed  her. 

"  There  is  a  rest  for  that  burden  as  there  is  for  all 
others,  my  darling ;  but  God  grant  you  may  never  need  it. 
Yet  remember  that  the  grief  which  received  from  man 
crushes  us  to  earth,  when  received  from  God  bears  us  to 
heaven." 

"  Poor  Helen  !  "  murmured  Susan,  brushing  away  a  tear. 

But  Mrs.  Graham  smiled,  and  said,  "  There  are  many 
sadder  prospects  in  the  world  than  hers,  though  Claude 
Egerton  may  prefer  the  certainty  of  a  warm  fire  within 
doors  to  the  chance  of  a  snow-storm  without." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  Ivors  party  were  assembled  in  the  library :  Sir  Henry 
and  Lady  Augusta,  Maurice  and  Helen.  There  was  no  one 
staying  in  the  house ;  invitations  had  all  been  left  till  the 
arrival  of  Claude  Egerton. 

"  A  clever  pamphlet  enough ! "  said  Sir  Henry,  throwing 
down  a  letter  upon  the  Poor  Laws :  "  why  don't  you  read  it, 
Maurice  f  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  don't  know  that  it  would  particularly 
interest  me." 

"  It  ought,  though.  If  you  ever  mean  to  go  into  Parlia- 
ment; you  must  get  up  the  question." 

"  I  shall  think  about  it  when  the  necessity  comes,  sir,  I 
dare  say.     In  the  meantime " 


11 4  IVORS. 

"  You  prefer  the  police  reports  in  the  Times,"  said  Helen, 
rising  slowly  from  her  seat,  and  looking  over  her  brother's 
shoulder. 

"  Well  enough,  for  want  of  something  better.  It  doesn't 
much  matter  what  it  is  when  one  has  been  out  shooting  all 
day." 

"  How  many  brace  did  you  kill  ?  "  asked  Lady  Augusta. 

"Only  two.  Hume  and  I  had  wretched  sport.  By-the- 
by,  sir,  Moss  tells  me  there  are  loads  of  poachers  about ;  he 
wants  more  help." 

"  Not  my  tenants,  I  trust,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"  I  didn't  inquire.  I  think,  though,  that  I  heard  some 
one  say  they  belong  chiefly  to  the  hamlet  at  Crayke,  where 
those  broken-down  cottages  are." 

.Lady  Augusta  joined  in  the  conversation,  putting  aside 
what  looked  like  a  printed  report  of  some  society.  "  Crayke 
is  really  a  disgraceful  place,  from  all  they  say  of  it.  I 
really  think,  Sir  Henry,  you  might  just  as  well  part  with 
that  corner  of  the  property.  It  is  a  great  deal  too  near 
Wingfield  to  be  any  good  to  us." 

"  It  might  be  improved,  I  suppose,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"  Small  hope  of  that,  sir,"  replied  Maurice,  "  if  the  sto- 
ries Moss  tells  are  true." 

"It  wants  draining,"  said  Sir  Henry,  thoughtfully. 
"  The  marsh  makes  the  place  unhealthy." 

"  And  it  would  cost  hundreds  to  drain  it  properly,"  said 
Lady  Augusta.  "  I  was  looking  the  other  day  at  some  agri- 
cultural report,  I  forget  what, — I  had  it  here ; "  and  she  be- 
gan searching  amongst  some  papers  on  a  side  table. 

"  No  occasion  to  look,  my  dear,"  observed  Sir  Henry, 
shortly ;  "  I  know  as  well  as  you  do  that  draining  is  an  ex- 
pensive process." 

"  And  till  it  is  drained,  of  course  nothing  can  be  done 
with  it,"  said  Lady  Augusta ;   "  and  you  will  only  get  a 


IVORS.  115 

wretched  set  of  people  to  live  there,  bringing  every  kind  of 
vice  into  the  neighbourhood.  Helen,  remember,  I  won't 
have  you  go  by  that  Crayke  lane." 

"  I  never  do,  mamma ;  the  people  are  far  too  disagree- 
able." 

"  And  now  I  think  of  it,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  "  I  doubt 
whether  some  rule  ought  not  to  be  made  about  the  school. 
If  we  give  our  fete  to  the  children,  we  can't  possibly  have 
the  Crayke  children  with  the  others." 

"I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  omitting  them,  my  dear," 
said  Sir  Henry,  "  if  there  is  no  illness  amongst  them." 

"  Oh !  but  there  may  be  ;  one  never  can  answer  for  it. 
I  shall  give  orders  to  Mr.  Brownrigg  to  have  them  kept 
away.  I  don't  want  to  disappoint  them,"  she  added,  seeing 
Helen's  impatient  look  of  disapprobation  ;  "  they  shall  have 
their  tea  and  cake  at  home ;  but  I  really  must  insist  upon  it, 
they  don't  come  to  the  house." 

"  They  are  a  dirty  little  set,  as  one  would  wish  to  see," 
said  Maurice  ;  "  they  quite  swarm  round  one,  when  one  rides 
through  the  place.' 

"  Of  course,  most  objectionable  !  So  near  Wingfield,  too. 
It  really  is  very  sad  to  see  the  state  of  the  people  in  this 
neighbourhood.  I  don't  believe,  myself,  anything  will  be 
done,  till  we  have  sisterhoods  to  work  amongst  the  poor : 
there  is  no  other  wav  of  reaching  them." 

"  Draining,"  said  Sir  Henry,  quietly. 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me.  Gentlemen  always  do  laugh 
at  these  suggestions,  of  which,  begging  their  pardon,  they 
know  nothing.  The  moral  influence  of  sisterhoods  has  been 
proved  to  be  enormous  ;  and  why  set  them  down  as  Komish  ? 
Look  on  the  continent, — at  Germany, — see  what  is  done 
there.  It  is  simply  a  prejudice  which  is  at  work  against 
them." 

"  I  never  said  it  was  not,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Henry,  tak- 


110  IVORS. 

ing  out  his  pocket-book,  and  making  a  memorandum,  head- 
ed by  the  word,  "  Crayke,  and  draining." 

"  Most  interesting,  this  is,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  again 
referring  to  her  report.     "  Helen,  love,  you  must  read  it." 

"  By  and  by,  mamma.  When  I  have  nothing  else  to 
do,"  she  added,  in  an  under  tone,  to  Maurice. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  good  done  in  Wingfield,  in  one 
way  and  another,  I  believe,"  observed  Sir  Henry.  "  Berry 
works  indefatigably,  so  does  his  wife." 

"  iX  is  a  pity  they  have  so  neglecte  1  their  children,"  ob- 
served Lady  Augusta,  shortly.  "  Grace  Berry  is  really  the 
most  gauche  creature ;  I  felt  the  other  day  as  if  I  could  not 
possibly  ask  her  here  again.  And  her  brother  may  be  a 
very  good  young  man :  but  he  is  so  shy  one  can  get  nothing 
out  of  him." 

"  Grace  is  a  good,  honest  girl,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"  So  you  would  say  of  your  housemaid  ;  but  what  can  one 
expect  from  those  Wingfield  people  ?  " 

"  Frances  Graham  gets  on  wonderfully  well  with  them," 
said  Sir  Henry. 

"  Chacun  a  son  goxit.  The  very  way  they  dress  is  enough 
to  disgust  one.  Flowers,  lace,  satins,  and  the  perpetual  '  my 
lady,'  and  '  your  ladyship.'  It  really  is  too  intolerable.  I 
give  Mrs.  Graham  wonderful  credit  for  enduring  it." 

"  But  they  are  not  all  of  that  stamp,"  observed  Sir  Hen- 
ry. "  Mrs.  Graham's  friends  are  really  superior  people.  She 
manages  to  show  civil  attentions  to  the  others,  but  she  quite 
knows  how  to  keep  them  at  a  proper  distance." 

"  My  dear  Sir  Henry," — and  Lady  Augusta  spoke  em- 
phatically,— "  I  see  what  you  are  aiming  at, — politics ! 
those  dreadful  politics !  But  remember,  I  can't  give  in.  If 
once  we  break  through  our  rule,  and  keep  open  house,  we 
shall  have  all  the  mob  of  the  country  to  entertain.  I  have 
acted  upon  principle — one  sacred  principle — all  through  my 


IVOKS.  117 

married  life.  I  have  most  religiously  kept  our  dear  child 
from  whatever  might  have  a  lowering  effect  upon  her  taste 
and  feelings ;  and  I  cannot,  I  assure  you  I  cannot,  he  pre- 
vailed upon  to  swerve  from  that  principle  now.  Just  when 
she  is  entering  life,  when  her  perceptions  are  most  acute, 
most  sensitive,  I  must  surround  her  with  everything  that  is 
high  and  ennohling.  Indeed,  Sir  Henry,  you  make  me  very 
anxious  when  you  propose  such  things ; "  and  Lady  Augusta 
drew  out  her  emhroidered  handkerchief  to  wipe  away  her 
anxiety,  and  Sir  Henry  took  refuge  from  his — in  the  Poor 
Laws. 

Helen  sat,  as  she  had  heen  sitting  for  the  last  quarter  of 
an  hour,  leaning  her  elbow  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  rest- 
ing her  forehead  on  her  hand,  and  thinking- — what  were  her 
thoughts  ? 

"  Mr.  Egerton,  my  lady,  in  the  hall.  He  begs  you  will 
not  wait  dinner  for  him.     He  has  walked  from  Wingfield." 

Helen  started  up,  so  did  Lady  Augusta.  Sir  Henry  was 
in  the  hall  before  the  servant  had  time  to  return  to  Claude ; 
Lady  Augusta  followed. 

"Walked  from  Wingfield'?  my  good  fellow,  what  did 
you  do  that  for  %  But  you  are  come  at  last,  and  good  luck 
to  ye,  as  the  Irish  say,"  and  Sir  Henry  shook  Claude  cor- 
dially by  both  hands. 

"  We  were  becoming  quite  anxious  about  you,  dear 
Claude,"  murmured  Lady  Augusta,  laying  her  soft  fingers, 
with  their  brilliant  rings,  upon  Claude's  rough  wintercoat. 
"  You  know  your  way  to  your  room — your  own  room — unoc- 
cupied since  you  left  us.  Don't  hurry,  don't  distress  your- 
self; we  are  only  ourselves — a  family  party.  But  just  let 
Helen  and  Maurice  have  the  pleasure  of  slinking  hands  with 
you  before  you  go  up  stairs." 

Maurice  was  still  sitting  comfortably  by  the  fire.  He 
was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  disturbing  himself  for  any  one, 


118  IVORS. 

much  less  for  an  old  friend  like  Claude  Egerton,  with  whom  he 
felt  quite  at  home.  But  Helen  was  already  at  the  drawing- 
room  door,  ready  to  welcome  Claude  with  one  of  her  sweet- 
est smiles,  and  a  cordial  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  "  which 
went  to  his  heart  much  more  than  Lady  Augusta's  anxiety. 
Yes,  it  was  pleasant  to  find  one  house  in  which  every  one 
brightened  at  his  approach. 

"  Now  we  won't  keep  you,"  said  Lady  Augusta.  ';  Din- 
ner will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,  and  you  shall  tell  us  your 
adventures  presently." 

"  Political    adventures    too !  "     exclaimed    Sir    Henry. 
"  Lady  Augusta  and  Helen  haven't  heard  half   from  me . 
what   you  can  tell   them  yourself.     Curious  discoveries  in 
human   nature    to   be  made    in    a    contested   election,    eh, 
Claude  1" 

And  Claude  smiled  an  assent,  but  did  not  promise  to  re- 
late his  discoveries,  perhaps  shrinking  from  the  recollection 
of  the  scenes  of  which  he  had  been  unavoidably  a  witness. 

He  made  his  appearance  again  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
as  short  a  time  as  could  have  been  expected,  considering  the 
condition  in  which  he  had  arrived. 

Dinner  was  ordered  immediately ;  a  comfortable  little 
dinner  in  what  was  called  the  study,  a  much  more  sociable 
apartment  than  the  large,  handsome,  but  dreary  dining-room. 

"  This  is  very  home-like,"  was  Claude's  observation,  as 
he  seated  himself  next  to  Helen  at  the  round  table. 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  my  dear  fellow,"  observed  Sir 
Henry,  giving  him  his  hand.  "  There  is  no  one  I  wish  to 
feel  more  at  home  at  Ivors  than  yourself." 

And  Helen  turned  to  Claude,  and  added,  "  We  shall  not 
enjoy  such  comfortable  little  dinners  next  week,  when  all  the 
gaieties  commence." 

"  But  we  must  hear  your  adveutures,"  began  Lady  Au- 
gusta. 


IVORS.  119 

"  Let  him  eat  his  soup,  my  dear ; — and  some  wine. 
Dale,  give  Mr.  Egerton  the  wine.  Two  miles'  walk  on  a 
December  evening,  with  snow  some  inches  deep  on  the 
ground " 

"  Is  nothing  to  boast  of,  or  to  think  of,"  said  Claude, 
lightly.  "  Helen,  I  have  a  message  for  you  from  your  cousin, 
Miss  Graham." 

"  Oh !  you  stopped  at  Wingfield,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 
There  was  a  great  effort  to  show  that  she  thought  it  quite  nat- 
ural that  he,  should  do  so,  but  it  failed.  Claude  perceived  a 
change  in  her  tone,  and  looked  up  in  surprise.  Helen,  too, 
glanced  at  Lady  Augusta,  and  went  on  eating  her  soup  in 
silence. 

"  Yes,  I  stopped  at  Wingfield,"  continued  Claude,  "  to 
give  Mrs.  Graham  the  charge  of  a  poor  girl  who  had  been 
knocked  down,  or  rather  who  had  fallen  in  trying  to  escape 
being  knocked  down  by  the  coach." 

Lady  Augusta  was  relieved.  "  Oh  !  very  kind  of  you ! 
extremely  considerate !  but  that,  my  dear  Claude,  you  always 
were." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  Claude,  bluntly.  "  Mrs. 
Graham  is  the  considerate  person — and  her  daughter,  Su- 
san ; — I  must  call  her  Susan  to  you,"  he  added,  laughing, 
and  addressing  Helen.  "  Don't  tell  her  I  take  such  a  lib- 
erty ;  I  am  decidedly  Mr.  Egerton  to  her,  as  she  once  told 
me." 

"  Susan  is  very  proper,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  the  words 
seeming  to  make  their  way  with  difficulty  through  her  half- 
closed  lips. 

"  Susan  is  wonderfully  good,"  said  Helen.  "  The  way  in 
which  she  adopts  all  the  old  women  and  dirty  children  in 
Wingfield  is  a  perfect  example.  I  declare  sometimes,  when 
I  am  with  her,  I  begin  to  think  that  every  one  who  is  not 
collecting  nigs  or  teaching  the  alphabet,  is  leading  a  useless 
life." 


120  irons. 

"  There  arc  different  occupations  according  to  different 
positions  in  life,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  oracularly.  "  Susan 
( j  raham's  circle  is  not  that  which  would  suit  you,  Helen." 

"  Not  at  all,  mamma ;  I  never  dreamt  for  one  moment 
that  it  would.  She  has  been  reading  sermons  every  day  for 
the  last  ten  years  to  a  blind  old  lady,  who  is  growing,  be- 
sides, so  deaf,  that  I  wonder  Susan  hasn't  cracked  her  voice 
long  before  this,  in  attempting  to  make  her  hear." 

"  It  is  the  fashion,"  observed  Maurice  ;  "  all  young  ladies 
take  to  that  kind  of  thing  now.  They  run  after  sermons 
and  services  as  they  do  after  the  opera." 

"  That  scarcely  applies  to  Miss  Graham,"  said  Claude. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  observed  Sir  Henry.  "  Susan  Gra- 
ham hasn't  a  particle  of  cant  about  her.  A  nice,  good- 
humoured  girl,  who  dresses  well,  talks  well " 

"Nay,  my  dear  Sir  Henry,  excuse  me,  that  is  just  what 
Susan  Graham  does  not  do ;  she  is  very  estimable,  but  deci- 
dedly dull.  Claude,  may  I  trouble  you  to  cut  up  that  chick- 
en ?  "  and  Lady  Augusta  became  suddenly  interested  in  the 
appetites  of  the  party,  and  particularly  anxious  that  Helen 
should  make  up  for  some  deficiency  in  that  respect,  which 
she  professed  to  have  remarked  lately.  But  the  conversa- 
tion would  come  round  again  to  the  unwelcome  topic,  or  to 
something  approaching  it,  in  spite  of  Lady  Augusta's  efforts. 
Sir  Henry,  slow  of  comprehension  in  matters  of  feeling,  and 
very  trying  to  his  wife  in  consequence,  insisted  upon  know- 
ing the  particulars  of  Kate  Hope's  accident,  and  what  had 
been  done  for  her.  "  He  knew  the  Hopes,"  he  said  ;  "  they 
were  Crayke  people.  He  had  never  heard  anything  about  a 
lame  daughter;  he  supposed  the  housekeeper  could  tell 
everything  about  her,  she  had  lists  of  the  poor  people." 

"  You  know  her,"  said  Claude,  addressing  Helen  ;  "  she 
told  me  you  had  often  sent  her  half-a-crown  by  your  cousin." 

"  Possibly !  I  don't  remember.  Does  she  want  any  more 
now?"  asked  Helen,  with  interest. 


IVORS.  121 

Claude  smiled.  "  I  dare  say  she  does,  but  I  am  not 
quite  the  person  to  say.  You  could  hear  from  your  cousin 
easily.     The  girl  is  going  to  stay  there." 

"  Stay  at  Mrs.  Graham's  ?  A  trirl  from  Cravke  1 "  in- 
quired  Lady  Augusta,  in  a  tone  of  alarm. 

"To  spend  her  Christmas,  I  believe,"  said  Claude. 

"  A  most  singular  fancy,"  observed  Lady  Augusta.  "  I 
don't  know  any  one  more  peculiar  than  Mrs.  Graham." 

"  Is  the  Crayke  young  lady  to  take  up  her  abode  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  do  worsted-work  ?  "   inquired  Helen. 

"  Not  quite,  I  imagine  ;  but  I  really  asked  no  questions. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  kind  thought 
bestowed  upon  her." 

"  And  a  good  deal  of  unwise  action,"  continued  Lady 
Augusta,  solemnly.  "  Unquestionably,  Mrs.  Graham  risks  a 
great  deal  by  the  way  she  brings  up  her  girls.  What  did  you 
tell  me,  Helen,  the  other  day,  of  the  curious  parties  she  has 
in  the  winter  ?  " 

"  Children's  parties,"  said  Helen,  "  with  games,  and  a 
Christmas-tree,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  to  which  she  asks 
the  very  oddest  people  ;  persons  one  never  heard  of, — abo- 
rigines, Hottentots.  Susan  owned  to  me  that  it  was  a  con- 
siderable tax  ;  but  aunt  Fanny  has  such  an  idea  of  duties  to 
society,  and  what  she  calls  opening  the  door  for  kindness." 

"  And  vou  don't  asrree  with  her  ?  "  said  Claude. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  disagree ;  that  is,  I  never 
thought  about  it ;  only  one  always  fancies  that  society  is  a 
question  of  taste.  And,  really,  I  don't  see  why  one  is  to 
put  oneself  out  of  the  way  for  vulgar  people." 

"Principle,  not  taste,  my  dear  Helen,"  observed  Lady 
Augusta.  "Vulgarity  arises  from  some  defect  in  the  mind. 
That  is  my  objection  to  it.  You  must  agree  with  me, 
Claude  ? " 

"I  suppose  I  must,"  said  Claude,  thoughtfully  ;   "only, — 


122  ivoks. 

I  don't  know  whether  I  do  the  world  injustice, — hut  it 
strikes  me  sometimes,  that  with  two-thirds  of  the  people 
whom  one  meets,  it  is  merely  a  question  of  the  disease,  exter- 
nal or  internal." 

"  I  think  that  too,"  said  Helen,  gently. 

"  Do  you  %  "  Claude  looked  pleased.  "  I  am  glad  we  are 
beginning  with  agreement." 

"  I  am  in  a  good  humour  to-day,"  replied  Helen.  "  Be- 
sides, as  a  rule,  I  can't  bear  my  fellow-creatures  ;  so  it  is  a 
comfort  to  find  fault  with  them." 

Claude  laughed,  looking  at  the  same  time  as  if  he 
thought  he  ought  to  be  grave,  and  Helen,  to  try  him  a  little 
more,  began  a  ludicrous  account  of  some  absurd  people  of 
pretension,  whom  she  had  met  with  in  a  railway  carriage. 

When  she  was  not  personal,  he  could  enjoy  her  descrip- 
tions as  much  as  any  one.  His  spirits  rose,  partly  from  the 
mere  fact  of  being  amused,  partly  also  from  the  home  feel- 
ing, to  which  he  was  peculiarly  susceptible  after  his  loneli- 
ness. There  was  something  also  in  Helen's  ease  which  put 
him  at  ease ;  he  repeated  anecdotes  of  his  own  experience, 
in  pretension  and  vulgarity  ;  and,  being  led  on  by  Sir  Hen- 
ry, was  persuaded  at  last  to  give  some  of  his  best  election 
stories,  which  Helen  enjoyed  from  their  novelty.  The  din- 
ner was  altogether  a  very  merry  one.  Claude  liked  the  un- 
usual phase  of  himself,  which  contact  with  Helen  exhibited. 
I  It  was  a  pleasant  feeling,  which  he  never  had  in  the  society 
of  men.  He  sat  by  her  the  greater  part  of  the  evening, 
made  her  sing  some  of  his  favourite  songs,  promised  to  teach 
her  chess,  by  way  of  occupation,  if  they  were  snowed  up  ; 
and  being  made  entirely  one  of  the  family,  agreed  to  meet 
at  a  council  the  next  morning,  to  decide  the  programme  of 
proceedings  for  the  Christmas  festivities. 

"But  approve  of  her  ?  Certainly  he  did  not.  Trust  her  ? 
How  could  he  ?  with  the  Admiral's  warning:  rin"-in°;  in  his 


ivohs.  123 

ear.  Marry  her?  The  thought  did  not  even  cross  his  mind. 
He  went  to  sleep  that  night,  thinking  of  his  ideal  of  a 
woman,  and — dreamed  of  Helen. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


The  snow  continued  for  some  days,  and  very  heavily ;  the 
roads  were  .pronounced  impassable.  Claude,  however,  made 
one  great  effort,  and  walked  over  to  the  Lodge,  where  he 
found  the  Admiral  gouty,  and,  as  a  consequence,  cross ; 
angry  with  him  for  having  gone  to  Ivors  first,  which  was  a 
plan  he  had  before  quite  acquiesced  in ;  angry  with  Mrs. 
Graham  because  she  did  not  come  to  see  him,  though  he  had 
himself  sent  her  a  message  to  beg  she  would  not  venture  in 
the  snow  ;  angry  more  than  all  with  himself  for  being  angry. 

"  There,  you  must  forgive  me,  my  boy,"  he  said,  giving 
his  hand  to  Claude,  after  the  grumbling  spirit  had  a  little 
exhausted  itself.  "You'll  have  the  twinge  yourself,  some 
day,  then  you'll  understand." 

"  I  think  I  can  understand  now,  sir,  without  it ;  at  any 
rate,  I  shall  try,  that  I  may  not  require  such  a  sharp  lesson 
to  teach  me.     My  father  had  the  gout,  you  know." 

•■All!  yes,  poor  fellow!  I  remember.  But  it  is  apt  to 
over  one  generation,  so  there's  a  hope  for  you.  Oh 
dear!  move  the  stool;  a  little  nearer;  gently,  now,  gently. 
Where's  that  fellow  Barnes  gone?" 

'•  He  left  us  to  talk,  sir,  I  suppose." 

"  Fool ! — I  beg  your  pardon,  Claude.  Ring  the  bell,  and 
tell  him  I  want  him." 

Barnes  was  only  in  the  next  room,  and  returned  imme- 
diately. "Barnes,  give  me  my  letters  ;  not  those,  what  are 
you  thinking  of?    Oh  dear!   don't  mind  me,  Claude.    There, 


121  nrORS. 

give  me  the  letters, — now  go,"  and  Barnes  retired  in  perfect 
good  humour. 

"  A  man's  a  saint,  Claude,  that  keeps  his  temper  with 
the  gout.  Just  open  the  letters ;  there's  one  I  want  to  show 
you.  It's  about  Frances  Graham's  business.  You  know  I 
am  trustee  for  her  and  the  children.  You'll  tell  it  by  the 
hand ;  a  capital,  clear,  round  hand ;  it's  little  Susan's 
copying." 

Claude  found  the  letter,  read  it,  and  discussed  it ;  a  note 
from  Susan  was  read  also,  giving  her  mother's  opinion  upon 
the  point  in  question,  which  had  something  to  do  with  the 
sale  of  some  property. 

"  Frances  Graham  hasn't  been  to  see  me  for  a  week," 
observed  the  Admiral,  "  else  there  wouldn't  have  been  the 
need  for  writing ;  but  she  knows  how  to  make  her  girl  use- 
ful.    A  lawyer  couldn't  have  written  a  better  letter  than  that." 

"Not  so  good,  probably,"  observed  Claude.  "He  cer- 
tainly would  have  used  more  words." 

"  Short,  and  to  the  purpose.  It's  the  way  with  all  the 
child  does,"  observed  the  Admiral,  looking  Claude  full  in  the 
face.  "  Deeds,  not  words.  It's  a  motto  yon  like,  Claude, 
eh?" 

Claude  gave  an  assent,  not  hearty  enough  to  please  the 
Admiral,  who  changed  the  subject  suddenly  and  became  po- 
litical, and  Claude  was  soon  deep  in  the  history  of  his  elec- 
tion ;  the  Admiral  c  'oss-questioning  him  in  a  tone  which 
might  have  suited  a  barrister  who  feels  his  strong  point  about 
to  be  undermined.  But  even  politics,  though  generally  an 
engrosing  topic,  did  not  long  please.  A  ring  at  the  bell, 
which  proved,  however,  only  to  be  a  message,  brought  the 
Admiral  back  again  to  more  personal  matters.  He  thought  it 
might  be  Mrs.  Graham,  and  would  not  be  satisfied  by  hear- 
ing from  Claude  that  the  roads  were  in  such  a  state,  it  would 
be  out  of  the  question  for  a  lady  to  attempt  the  walk. 


ivors.  125 

"  Not  walk  ?  why  not  1  She'll  go  about  enough  in 
"Wingfield,  I'll  answer  for  it.  If  she  couldn't  come,  the  girls 
might.  I  thought  better  of  Susan ;  but  they  are  all  alike. 
I  suppose  your  fine  ladies  at  Ivors  don't  put  their  noses  out 
of  doors?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  Helen  and  I  walked  for  some 
time  on  the  colonnade  this  morning." 

The  old  man  half  turned  himself  round  in  his  chair,  and 
a  frown  contracted  his  forehead.  "Helen  and  you!  How 
long  has  that  been,  I  should  like  to  know  1 "  His  eye  was 
almost  fierce  in  its  expression. 

Claude  felt  his  colour  rise,  very  absurdly,  as  he  was 
aware,  but  that  consciousness  did  not  tend  to  decrease  his 
uncomfortable  feeling.  He  answered  lightly:  "We  have 
always  called  each  other  by  our  Christian  names,  sir.  You 
know  we  are  cousins ;  at  least,  so  Lady  Augusta  will  have 
it.  It  is  easier  to  say  Helen  than  Miss  Clare.  You  are 
not  alarmed  for  me,  are  you  1 "  and  he  laughed  rather  awk- 
wardly. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  spider  spread  a  net  for  a  fly  ? " 
asked  the  Admiral,  sharply. 

Claude  looked  annoyed.  "  My  dear  sir,  you  must  for- 
give me  ;  I  really  can't  talk  such  nonsense  seriously.  Helen 
Clare  is  pretty  and  amusing  enough,  but  not  at  all  the  kind 
of  person  I  should  choose  for  my  wife,  which  I  suppose  is 
what  you  mean,  even  if  I  were  thinking  about  marrying, 
which  I  really  am  n  ">t." 

"  Well ! — so  far,  well !  "  said  the  Admiral,  his  face  relax- 
ing ;  "  but  that  old  woman  at  Ivors  would  be  a  match  for  a 
hundred  such  youngsters  as  you,  my  boy.  Cousins,  indeed! 
haven't  I  seen  hundreds  tied  together  for  life,  like  or  not 
like,  merely  because  they  began  by  being  cousins?  Trust 
me,  Claude,  keep  yourself  out  of  the  snare.  The  girl's  well 
looking   enough,   though,    for   myself,    I'd   rather   have   one 


126  ivors. 

glance  of  my  little  Susan's  honest  eye,  than  twenty  thousand 
of  such  fly-away  looks  as  hers  ;  hut  she's  not  made  for  you. 
A  fashionable,  flimsy  creature,  that  would  slip  through  your 
fingers,  and  leave  you  without  a  grain  of  comfort !  Be  on 
your  guard,  I  say." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  for  the  warning.  When  I  begin  to 
think  of  Helen  Clare  for  a  wife,  I  will  remember  it." 

"Trust  Lady  Augusta  for  giving  you  time  for  that. 
Why,  my  good  fellow,  if  she  has  set  her  heart  upon  it,  she'll 
have  you  in  for  it,  license,  ring,  cake,  and  favours,  all  ready, 
and  you  fastened  up  before  you  can  turn  round  and  ask 
whether  your  hand  is  your  own." 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honour,  sir,  by  imagining  that 
Lady  Augusta  has  any  such  designs.  When  she  has  all 
London  to  choose  from,  she  will  scarcely  take  the  trouble  to 
plan  so  much  to  entrap  a  humble  individual  like  myself." 

"  Humble !  with  twelve  thousand  a  year ;  you  are  too 
great  a  fool,  Claude  !  " 

"  There  are  men  with  twenty  thousand  and  a  title  to  be 
had  for  the  seeking,"  said  Claude,  laughing. 

"  Maybe !  But  you  don't  know  the  woman  as  I  do. 
She's  a  schemer  on  principle.  That's  a  worse  kind  of 
schemer  than  any  other.  She'll  have  you,  Claude,  not  mere- 
ly because  you  have  twelve  thousand  a-year,  but  because  she 
sets  you  down  as  a  man  to  stand  high  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world.  Lady  Augusta  Clare  care  for  money  or  rank  !  Oh, 
no !  "  and  the  Admiral  burst  into  an  irritable  laugh.  "  Tal- 
ent,— reputation — goodness, — goodness,"  he  repeated  the 
word,  ironically ;  "  those  are  the  prizes.  If  they  all  ride 
together  in  a  coach-and-six,  well  and  good !  and  if  they 
don't,  ten  chances  to  one  that  they  never  reach  my  lady's 
door ;  but  the  coach-and-six  are  not  to  be  put  to  weigh  in 
the  balance,  oh,  no !  " 

Claude  laughed  again,  and  this  time  more  freely.     "If 


ivoes.  127 

I  am  taken  in,  sir,  as  you  would  call  it,  it  will  certainly 
not  be  for  want  of  warning ;  but  I  think,  if  you  saw  Helen 
and  myself  together,  you  would  agree  with  me  that  no  two 
people  could  be  more  safe." 

"  Safe !  my  good  fellow ;  there's  no  one  safe.  Just  look 
round  the  world,  and  see  where's  the  clever  man  that  has 
got  a  sensible  wife — not  one  in  a  hundred.  The  more  wis- 
dom a  man  has  in  his  head,  the  more  folly  he  is  likely  to 
have  in  his  heart." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  but  I  don't  pique  myself  upon  my 
wisdom,  so  I  feel  that  the  observation  doesn't  apply  to  me ; 
and  for  Helen,  you  would  scarcely  call  a  man  a  fool  for  mar- 
rying her." 

"  I  would,  though.  What  does  a  man  want  in  a  wife  ? 
Not  a  whirligig  thing,  that  changes  with  every  change  of  the 
wind,  and  knows  no  medium  between  crying  and  laughing ; 
but  a  steady,  good-humoured,  rational  companion,  ready  with 
a  smile  at  any  moment,  able  to  help  him  through  his  difficul- 
ties, putting  number  one  always  in  the  background.  Xo 
pupil  of  Lady  Augusta  Clare  ever  did  that,  Claude." 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't  be  taught  to  do  it," 
replied  Claude.  "  Besides,  I  really  think  you  do  Helen  in- 
justice, sir.     She  certainly  is  not  selfish." 

"What  do  you  call  selfishness,  then?  Look  at  Susan 
Graham,  working  for  others  from  morning  till  night;  tak- 
ing all  the  trouble  from  her  mother  in  housekeeping ;  look- 
ing after  the  poor  and  the  schools ;  writing  a  capital  hand, 
yes,  a  capital  hand,"  and  the  Admiral  took  up  Susan's  letter 
again  :  "  she's  a  girl  worth  something.  But  for  the  other  ! 
a  fine  lady,  with  her  flounces  and  furbelows,  why,  she's  fit  for 
nothing  but  to  work  shepherdesses  in  that  worsted-work  they 
are  always  at." 

Claude  looked  grave.  The  Admiral  added,  pettishly, 
"Why  don't  you  speak,  man  ?    What  are  you  thinking  of1?" 


128  ivors. 

"  Nothing  that  would  please  you,  I  am  afraid,  sir." 
"Have  it  out — have  it  out.  What's  the  mischief?  Is 
the  girl  Mrs.  Egerton  already  %  "  and  the  Admiral  made  a 
sudden  move  which  obliged  him  almost  to  scream  with  pain. 
Claude  arranged  the  gouty  cushions,  and  answered  slow- 
ly as  he  did  so :  "  Helen  would  not  thank  you  for  the  sug- 
gestion, sir.  She  has  no  wish  to  be  Mrs.  Egerton ;  but  if 
she  were  my  wife,  or  the  wife  of  any  man  whom  she  loved, 
she  has  powers  of  self-devotion  which  would  make  her  give 
up  everything  for  her  husband's  happiness." 

"Self-devotion!  Fiddlesticks!  How  is  a  woman  to 
learn  self-devotion  after  marriage,  when  she  has  done  noth- 
ing but  learn  self-love  before  it  1 " 

"  We  differ  a  little  there,  my  dear  sir.  I  grant  you  that 
Lady  Augusta's  training  would  have  taught  selfishness,  if 
any  training  could  ;  but  Helen  is  wonderfully  unspoilt,  and 
has  a  very  noble  nature." 

"Well !  so  have  other  people  ;  so  has  my  little  Susan," 
said  the  Admiral. 

"  Miss  Graham  does  seem  a  very  amiable  person,"  was 
Claude's  cold  reply. 

It  was  too  much  for  the  Admiral's  patience.  He  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  muttering  to  himself,  "  He's  gone, 
— the  boy's  gone.  Amiable,  indeed  !  amiable !  I  had  rather 
hear  him  say,  she's  a  vixen." 

Claude,  sorry  to  have  annoyed  him,  took  up  the  defen- 
sive tone.  "  My  dear  sir,  you  really  misunderstand  me.  Of 
course,  I  don't  mean  to  institute  any  comparison  between 
Helen  and  Miss  Graham,  or  Miss  Anybody." 

"  Anybody !  my  good  fellow ;  hold  your  tongue,  if  you 
don't  mean  to  drive  me  frantic." 

And  Claude  was  for  a  moment  silent,  and  then  continued 
again.  "  I  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  the  greatest  re- 
spect for  Miss  Graham ;  if  it  Avere  only  as  being  Mrs.  Gra- 


ivors.  129 

ham's  daughter.     You  know  Mrs.  Graham  is  one  of  my  oldest 
and  best  friends ;  I  could  not  but  feel  great  respect." 

"  Ring  the  bell,  Claude."  The  Admiral's  lips  were  firmly 
shut,  and  he  only  opened  them  again  to  order  Barnes  to 
bring  luncheon. 

Claude,  innocent  and  ignorant  of  his  offence,  tried  in 
vain  to  brinsr  him  back  to  s:ood  humour.  He  ate  his  luncheon 
in  silence,  refused  even  to  let  Claude  pour  out  his  glass  of 
wine,  and  was,  in  face,  thoroughly  put  out. 

Claude,  knew  him  sufficiently  well  to  understand  how  to 
manage  him.  He  took  no  notice,  but  went  on  for  some  time 
talking  upon  indifferent  subjects ;  and,  when  he  found  he 
could  obtain  no  reply,  had  recourse  to  a  book.  When  the 
Admiral  prepared  for  his  afternoon's  nap,  Claude  prepared 
for  his  departure. 

"  I  shall  come  and  see  you  again,  sir,  the  very  first  day 
I  can,  and  brin^  vou  the  sketch  Sir  Henrv  and  I  have  drawn 
out  upon  the  Poor-Law  Question :  I  should  like  to  have  your 
opinion  of  it." 

No  answer. 

Claude  looked  about  for  his  gloves,  and  went  towards  the 
door.     The  Admiral  thought  he  was  going. 

"  Claude,  I  say,  Claude !  "  The  voice  was  weak  and 
graft",  but  unquestionably  relenting.  Claude  turned  back 
directlv. 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  dear  sir  ?  your  pillows  moved  .'  " 

The  Admiral  caught  his  hand.  His  eyes,  dim  with  age, 
were  still  more  shadowed  with  tears.  "  I'm  a  fool,  Claude, 
— forgive  me :  but  the  child  is  like  my  own  ;  so  are  you. 
There,  go,  and  God  bless  you!  and  don't  be  taken  in  by 
Lady  Augusta." 

Poor  old  man  !  He  had  marred  his  own  object  by  those 
last  words.  They  sent  Claude  away — again  thinking  upon 
Helen,  and  precisely  in  the  way  most  likely  to  interest  him 


130  IVORS. 

in  her.  All  noble  dispositions  are  inclined  to  take  part  -with 
the  accused ;  and  Claude  was  singularly  generous, — anxious 
to  support  the  injured,  willing  to  confess  himself  in  the 
wrong.  The  Admiral  had  infused  into  his  mind  a  suspicion 
of  Helen's  sincerity,  before  he  could  be  said  to  know  her ; 
and  for  a  while  it  had  worked  to  her  prejudice.  It  might 
have  continued  there  still,  but  for  this  interview,  in  which 
prejudice  had  been  so  clearly  shown  that  he  was  at  once  put 
upon  his  guard.  In  defending  her,  he  had  brought  out  his 
own  secret  opinions,  and  had  said  things  which  he  had  never 
yet  allowed  to  himself.  He  had  called  her  wonderfully  un- 
spoilt,— capable  of  self-devotion :  never  till  that  day  had  he 
realised  the  fact ;  but  it  was  a  truth,  and  he  dwelt  upon  it 
pleasantly,  with  a  feeling  of  rest.  Ivors  was  more  charm- 
ing to  him  than  it  had  been  before ;  the  thought  of  Helen 
was  a  greater  attraction.  He  went  over,  in  his  own  mind, 
all  that  the  Admiral  had  said  of  her  and  of  Susan,  with  the 
secret  feeling  that  the  prejudice  which  worked  so  strongly 
against  the  one  might  be  equally  misleading  in  favour  of  the 
other, — allowing  Helen's  faults,  but  excusing  them, — allow- 
ing Susan's  virtues,  but  distrusting  them.  Meddling  with 
such  matters  is,  indeed,  playing  with  edged  tools.  Claude 
Egerton  had  advanced  many  degrees  nearer  what  the  Admi- 
ral would  have  thought  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  by  the 
time  he  reached  Ivors. 


CHAPTER  XV 


Christmas  Day  fell  upon  a  Tuesday.  Public  lestivities  were 
to  begin  on  the  Wednesday  following,  in  the  form  of  a  grand 
3chool  fete,  with  a  Christmas-tree  and  magic  Ian  thorn,  to  be 
given  in  the  hall  at  Ivors  to  the  children  of  the  Ivors  school, 


IVORS.  131 

— not  a  National  school,  but  one  especially  under  Lady  Au- 
guta  Clare's  superintendence.  The  school  treat  was  Lady 
Augusta's  pet  plan  for  giving,  as  she  said,  a  tone  of  right 
feeling  to  the  whole.  It  would  show  that  the  rich  could 
sympathise  with  the  poor,  and  treat  them  with  consideration. 
She  felt  it  was  setting  a  good  example  in  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  this  they  were,  of  course,  bound  to  consider. 
Her  eloquence  showed  itself  not  only  in  speaking,  but  in 
writing.  She  dispatched  three  sheets  of  note  paper  by  way  of 
invitation  to,  her  cousin,  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  and  sent  simi- 
lar, though  shorter,  documents  to  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Grey,  and 
her  intimate  friend,  Miss  Manners,  in  all  which,  she  took 
care  to  insist  upon  the  principle  on  which  such  entertain- 
ments were  to  be  conducted  ;-■ — the  sacrifice  made  by  the  rich, 
— the  gratitude  necessarily  felt  by  the  poor.  Very  well  writ- 
ten notes  they  were, — the  sentences  well  rounded,  the  words 
well  chosen, — the  only  objection  to  them  being  that,  like 
most  of  Lady  Augusta's  productions,  they  were  so  full  of 
many  meanings  as  to  end  in  having  none. 

"Mamma  takes  the  school  children  under  her  care,"  said 
Helen  to  Claude,  as  they  stood  talking  together  by  the  fire, 
after  a  long  breakfast  on  the  Saturday  before  Christmas  Day. 
"  I  propose  that  we  take  the  grown-up  children  under  ours. 
Do  you  know  whom  we  are  to  have  ?  " 

"  Humes,  Mordaunts,  Grahams,"  he  stopped. 

"  Grahams,  not  to  be  put  in  with  the  rest  of  the  world," 
said  Helen,  "  I  like  my  cousins  a  great  deal  too  well  for  that." 

He  began  again,  "  Humes  Mordaunts." 

Helen  interrupted  him,  "  Please,  be  merciful;  they  are 
the  only  names  I  have  heard  for  the  last  six  months,  and  L 
am  heartily  weary  of  them." 

"  The  only  names  I  have  heard  either,"  replied  Claude, 
"unless  I  go  back  to  the  Dobsons,  Smiths,  and  Drowns,  of 
Ramsay." 


132  ivoks. 

"  Then  you  have  not  seen  mamma's  list.  I  may  as  well 
show  it  you,  if  we  are  to  take  counsel  about  it."  Helen  pro- 
duced a  paper  from  her  pocket-book.  "  Now,  then,  for  ma- 
terials. Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  a  hundredth  cousin,  elderly, 
blue,  six  feet  high ;  writes  in  magazines,  quotes  Shakespeare 
till  one  is  inclined  to  wish  he  never  had  lived,  and  will  do 
very  well  for  Lady  Macbeth,  if  we  get  up  a  tableau." 

"  Mrs.  Grey !  a  good,  dear  old  lady  of  seventy,  who  likes 
everybody,  and  thinks  mamma  an  oracle.  Miss  Manners, 
my  abomination !  Don't  tell  mamma  that ;  she  is  a  very 
dear  friend.  A  mixture  of  science  and  Germanism,  drowned 
in  ologies,  and  devoted  to  Kant.  A  woman  who  talks  desira- 
bly of  Being  and  Existence,  and  makes  you  heartily  wish 
you  could  forget  her  own.  Mr.  Drayson !  a  good  man  I  be- 
lieve, at  least,  I  never  heard  any  harm  of  him  except  that 
everybody  rims  after  him.  I  don't  see  what  business  he  has 
to  leave  his  parish  just  now  ;  but  he  knows  best.  He  won't 
do  for  a  charade  or  a  tableau,  so  we  may  put  him  aside." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  very  hopeful  for  charades,  if  these 
are  all  we  are  to  have,"  said  Claude. 

"You  are  so  impatient.  There  is  one  of  Maurice's 
friends,  a  Mr.  Pearson,  a  barrister ;  and  mamma's  cousin, 
Captain  Movdaunt,  more  stocked  with  good  nature  than  with 
brains,  but  who  will  do  very  well  for  a  door-post ;  and  there 
will  be  Miss  Humf,  and  Mary,  and  my  three  cousins ;  and, 
oh!  I  forgot,  Jane  Aubrey,  Lord  Steyne's  daughter,  and  per- 
haps Lord  Steyne  himself.  Jane  is  a  very  good-natured  girl, 
very  clever, — pretty  too.  I  have  seen  her  make  an  admirable 
Rebecca." 

"  And  they  all  come  on  Wednesday  to  the  school  treat, 
do  they  ?  "  inquired  Claude. 

"  Nearly  all,  I  believe.  You  know  when  we  do  a  good 
deed,  it  is  as  well  to  let  the  world  know  it,"  said  Helen, 
looking  at  him  archly. 


ivoks.  133 

"  You  are  sarcastic,"  replied  Claude. 

"  Am  I  ?  I  only  say  what  I  think.  Mr.  Berry  and  Aunt 
Fanny  give  a  school  treat  in  Wingfield  every  year,  but  the 
world  are  not  asked  to  it,  and  so  they  get  no  praise  for  it." 

"  It  is  the  clergyman's  duty,"  said  Claude,  in  a  dry  tone. 

"  Some  one  else  can  be  sarcastic  besides  me,"  observed 
Helen.  "  After  all,  it  is  a  comfortable  thing  to  be  in  a  po- 
sition in  which  one  has  no  duties,  or  next  to  none ;  a  very 
little  goes  such  a  great  way  then." 

A  sisrh  fullowed  the  remark,  and  Helen  sat  down  in  the 
arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and  began  to  study  a  newspaper. 

"  If  you  would  learn  to  say  what  you  really  mean,  you 
would  help  both  yourself  and  others,  Helen,"  observed 
Claude,  thoughtfully. 

"  Words  are  nothing.  What  does  it  signify  whether  they 
have  a  meaning  or  not  ?  " 

"  Words  form  our  characters  as  much  as  actions  do,"  said 
Claude.  • 

"  Characters  for  words,  you  mean." 

"  Xo ;  begging  your  pardon.  I  always  say  what  I 
mean." 

"  I  shall  turn  you  over  to  discuss  Being  with  Miss  Man- 
ners," said  Helen,  pettishly;  "I  don't  understand  meta- 
physics." 

Claude  smiled  faintly  "  I  shan't  thank  you  for  that,  by 
your  own  account.  But  we  won't  talk  metaphysics  if  you 
dislike  it." 

"  I  don't  dislike  it ;  at  least,  not  more  than  I  dislike 
everything  and  everybody." 

Claude  was  silent. 

Helen  pretended  to  read,  but  she  looked  up  after  a  few 
nioment8,  and  said  simply,  and  in  a  tone  of  earnestness, 
"Have  I  offended  you?" 

He  started,  and  his  eye  flashed  eagerly  ;  then  became 


1 34  ivors. 

again  cold  and  severe,  as  he  answered,  "  I  have  no  right  to 
be  offended  with  you,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  offended  at." 

"  But  vexed, — have  I  vexed  you  ?  I  should  he  very 
sorry." 

The  tone,  so  musically  gentle,  and  the  bright,  candid 
glance  of  Helen's  eye,  would  have  touched  a  far  colder  tem- 
perament than  Claude's.  But  he  kept  a  strict  guard  over 
himself,  and  answered  with  apparent  indifference  :  "  You  vex 
me  for  yourself,  for  nothing  else." 

"  I  have  said  something  naughty,"  said  Helen,  folding 
her  hands  like  a  penitent  child.  "  Please  forgive  ;  I  don't 
know  at  all  what  it  was." 

Claude  laughed,  and  answered,  "  I  ought  by  this  time  to 
be  accustomed  to  hear  that  you  dislike  everybody.  I  have 
been  told  so  often  enough." 

"  Fa^on  cle  parler"  said  Helen.  "  I  would  not  on  any 
account  commit  murder." 

"  But," — Jie  paused,  and  turned  away  ;  "  it  is  no  good ;  I 
only  bore  you." 

"  If  you  were  but  a  clergyman,  you  might  preach,"  said 
Helen,  provokingly. 

"  Yes,  and  not  being  one,  I  must  hold  my  tongue." 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  should  like  to  be  a  clergymai ,  of 
all  things,"  exclaimed  Helen.  "  I  should  so  delight  to  be 
able  to  get  up  in  a  pulpit,  and  tell  everybody  what  I  thought 
of  them.  Naughty  again,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  added,  with  an- 
other of  those  winning  glances,  for  which  Claude,  in  spite 
of  himself,  watched  as  for  the  flash  of  the  summer  lightning. 

"  I  doubt  which  would  be  the  most  annoyed  when  your 
sermon  was  ended,"  he  said,  "  yourself  or  your  hearers." 

"  Myself  annoyed,  because  I  spoke  the  truth  %  " 

"  It  would  not  be  the  truth,  any  more  than  it  is  true  to 
Bay  that  you  dislike  everybody." 

"  I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  own  words ;    and  at  any 


ivoks.  135 

rate,  I  don't  ask  for  an  opinion  upon  them,"  said  Helen, 
petulantly. 

Claude  smiled.  "  This  is  too  silly  in  us,  Helen ;  we 
always  contrive  to  end  in  this  way.     I  don't  know  why." 

"  But  I  do,"  replied  Helen.  "  Because  you  are  always 
cavilling  at  my  words, — preaching  to  me." 

"  Well !  I  am,  I  am  ;  I  confess  it.  I  am  very  tiresome, 
very  troublesome.  I  am  not  so,  at  least  I  hope  not,  to  any 
one  else.  But  Helen,  you  do  yourself  injustice, — and  I 
ought  not  to  .care, — but  I  do." 

His  face  became  crimson,  then  pale,  and  muttering  some- 
thing about  letters  to  write,  without  another  word  he  left  the 
room. 

Claude  paced  the  colonnade  in  a  tumult  of  agitation, 
angry  with  himself,  ashamed,  frightened.  What  had  he 
said,  done,  felt  ?  Hid  Helen  understand  ?  Would  she  put 
any  interpretation  on  his  words  ?  was  there  really  any  inter- 
pretation to  be  put?  He  did  not  know  why  he  had  spoken 
in  that  wav, — he  had  no  intention  of  doin^r  so  a  moment 
before.  Yet  he  was  the  last  man  in  England, — so  at  least 
he  considered  himself, — to  be  led  away  by  a  hasty  feeling. 
What  he  had  said  was,  however,  really  nothing.  He  had 
declared  himself  vexed  that  Helen  should  do  herself  injus- 
tice; p°rfectly  true,  and  very  natural.  Why  that  strange, 
confusing  consciousness  of  indiscretion  should  have  crossed 
him,  he  could  not  tell,  but  it  was  there,  he  was  unable  to 
escape  from  it.  He  tried  to  forget  it,  but  it  would  not  go. 
I  lare  !  yes,  he  did  care  for  Helen  ;  her  growth  in  goodness, 
her  consistency,  and  rightmindedness,  as  he  might  and  ought 
to  care  for  any  one  who  had  been  the  friend  and  playmate 
of  his  boyhood,  but  she  was  nothing  to  him.  He  had  his 
dream,  his  ideal  to  rest  upon ;  and  Helen,  wayward,  petu- 
lant, proud,  severe  with  others,  indulgent  to  herself,  was  as 
far  removed  from  the  gentle,  humble,  .self-denying,  sympa- 


136  ivoes. 

thising  being  of  his  imagination,  as  if  she  had  been  the  crea- 
ture of  another  world.  Yet  he  thought  of  her ;  her  face 
haunted  him  ;  her  voice  rang  in  his  ears  ;  she  was  before  him 
wherever  he  turned,  with  her  graceful  movements,  her  be- 
witching smile.  The  very  moment  after  he  had  said  she  was 
nothing  to  him,  he  was  dwelling  upon  every  word  she  had 
uttered,  thinking  what  she  meant,  what  she  felt ;  conjectur- 
ing Avhat  there  might  be  beneath  the  thick  veil  of  self-delu- 
sion and  inconsistency ;  longing  to  reach  her  true  mind,  to 
direct  and  guide  her,  to  lead  her  to  high  and  noble  objects. 
Thought  travelled  on ;  he  grew  calmer,  his  pace  slackened. 
He  pictured  Helen  not  as  she  was,  but  as  she  might  be ; 
lovely,  winning,  candid,  generous,  affectionate  still ;  but  self- 
controlled,  earnestly  religious,  her  life  given  to  her  fellow- 
creatures,  her  heart  to  God.  It  was  a  hope  of  Heaven  rather 
than  of  earth  which  followed  ;  it  made  his  heart  beat  rapid- 
ly, his  blood  rush  wildly  through  his  veins. 

For  the  first  time   Helen   Clare's   reality,   and  Claude 
Egerton's  ideal,  had  in  imagination  met  and  become  one. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  weather  changed  suddenly  on  Christmas  Eve ;  a  tha1 
came,  with  a  bright  sun,  the  snow  melted  rapidly,  and  tht 
roads  were  even  more  impassable  than  before,  for  those  who 
disliked  mud.  But  the  Admiral  was  happy.  The  gout  was 
gradually  leaving  him ;  and  Mrs.  Graham,  less  afraid  of  a 
dirty  road  than  of  a  bitter  wind,  which  might  have  been  in- 
jurious to  Isabella,  whose  constitution  was  delicate,  had 
offered  to  pass  Christmas  Day  with  him.  They  were  to  be 
at  the  Lodge  the  evening  before,  all  but  Charlie,  who  had 
been  carried  off,  much  against  his  sister's  will,  to  spend  a 


ITORS.  137 

little  time  with  a  schoolfellow,   and   was  not   expected  at, 
Winsffield  for  some  da  vs. 

The  old  man  dwelt  upon  the  thought  of  having  so  many 
about  him  with  a  child's  pleasure  ;  settled  himself  with  the 
housekeeper  which  rooms  were  to  he  occupied,  and  gave  par- 
ticular directions,  even  to  the  minutiae  of  lighting  fires. 
Loneliness,  though  he  had  been  accustomed  to  it  for  years, 
had  in  no  way  rendered  him  misanthropical,  and  there  were 
associations  clinging  to  Mrs.  Graham  and  her  children,  which 
at  times  put  ibrth  young  fresh  shoots  of  life  and  feeling,  as 
the  green  leaves  spring  unexpectedly  from  the  fallen  trunk, 
about  to  be  caried  away  as  dead. 

Yet  there  was  a  lurking  uneasiness  in  his  mind  upon  one 
point.  He  would  not  face  it  or  acknowledge  it;  but  Barnes 
observed  that  afternoon,  that  whenever  the  Admiral  men- 
tioned Mr.  Egerton's  name,  it  was  with  an  expression  of 
complaint,  as  if  some  passing  annoyance  had  for  the  time 
come  between  them.  Claude  had  been  over  to  the  Lodge 
again,  but  he  had  arrived  at  an  unfortunate  moment,  when 
the  Admiral  was  suffering  a  good  deal,  and  could  not  talk  to 
him ;  nothing,  therefore,  had  been  said  on  either  side  to 
brighten  any  uncomfortable  remembrances  of  the  last  con- 
versation. 

"  Stir  the  fire,  and  make  a  blaze,  Barnes,"  said  the  Ad- 
miral, as  the  clock  struck  a  quarter  to  four.  "  They  must 
be  here  in  a  minute ;  and  tell  Mrs.  Easton  to  go  and  look  at 
the  bedroom  fires  again.  Is  the  cart  come  back  from  Wing- 
field  yet,  with  Mrs.  Graham's  boxes  ?  " 

"  It  is  expected  every  minute,  sir.  Mrs.  Graham  said  it 
was  to  call  for  them  at  three,  and  she  and  the  young  ladies 
would  walk." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Go  down  the  avenue,  and  look  if 
they  are  coming." 

Ikirnes  went,  and  returned  with  no  tidings,  and  was  sent 


13S  IVORS. 

again,  and  came  Lack  to  report  that  the  ladies  were  coming 
up  to  the  house,  and  a  gentleman  with  them  ;  he  thought  it 
was  Mr.  Egerton. 

The  Admiral  ruhbed  his  hands  together,  slowly-;  it  was 
a  trick  he  had  when  anything  pleased  him.  "  Stir  the  fire 
affaia.  Barnes  ;  draw  the  arm-chair  out.  I  hear  them,  don't 
I  %  Why  do  they  ring  the  bell  %  "  He  sat  up  in  his  chair, 
knocking  his  stick  against  the  floor :  Barnes  left  the  room. 
"  Don't  shut  the  door  ;  what  do  you  do  that  for  1  Leave  it, 
I  say."  If  his  foot  had  been  one  degree  less  swollen,  he 
Avould  certainly  have  risen,  and  walked  across  the  room. 

The  party  lingered  for  a  minute  in  the  hall,  laughing 
and  talking,  taking  off  goloshes  and  cloaks  ;  the  Admiral's 
voice  was  heard,  "  Come  in,  Frances.  Why  don't  you  come  % 
what  are  you  waiting  for  %  Egerton,  are  you  there  ?  Come 
in,  man.  What,  my  little  Susan !  "  and  as  Susan,  being  the 
first  ready,  hastened  to  answer  the  call,  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  turned  her  to  the  light,  that 
he  might  look  at  her,  and  then,  making  her  bend  down  to 
him,  stroked  her  face  as  he  would  that  of  an  infant,  and 
said,  tremulously,  "  There,  kiss  me  again,  child ;  you  make 
a  fool  of  me." 

He  held  her  hand  in  his,  even  when  Mrs.  Graham  came 
in,  looking  at  the  same  time  for  Claude,  who  was  still  in  the 
hall,  speaking  to  Barnes. 

"  Thank  you,  Frances,  my  dear,  for  coming  to  cheer  an 
old  man.  And  Isabella  and  Anna,  too  ;  let  me  look  at  you, 
my  pretty  ones."  But  he  did  not  look  at  them,  or  at  least 
only  for  a  moment ;  his  eyes  again  being  directed  to  the 
door. 

"  Mr.  Egerton  came  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Mr.  Egerton  !     Pshaw  !     Claude  to  you !  why  not  ?  " 

"  Well :  Claude,  if  you  will,  my  dear  sir,  and  if  he  will. 
I  like  it  much  better ;  only  one  must  pay  proper  respect  to 


ivoes.  J  39 

members  of  Parliament.  He  walked  into  Wingfield,  to  ask 
some  questions  about  Kate  Hope,  tbe  lame  girl  I  wrote  you 
word  about ;  you  remember,  I  dare  say." 

"  Lame  girls !  not  a  bit.  What  has  Claude  Egerton  to 
do  with  lame  girls  %  Susan,  darling,  just  rub  my  foot, 
gently,  very  gently." 

Susan  took  off  her  bonnet,  laid  it  on  the  floor,  and  knelt 
down  beside  him. 

"  And  so  you  walked,  did  you  !  Barnes  says  the  roads 
are  in  a  great  mess.  But — here  he  is ; "  Claude  came  into 
the  room,  and. the  Admiral  broke  off  abruptly. 

Claude  seemed  a  little  doubtful  of  his  reception,  and 
with  reason.  The  Admiral  held  out  his  hand,  and  shook  it 
cordially,  but  his  tone  was  grumbling.  "  I  thought  you 
were  snowed  in  .at  Ivors  or  locked  up ;  it's  all  much  the 
same.  I  suppose  you  have  done  nothing  but  sit.  over  the  tire? 
ami  tell  stories  to  your  fine-lady  friends.  You  couldn't  re- 
member an  old  man." 

Claude  made  an  apology,  but  only  laughed  a  little  con- 
sciously.    Mrs.  Graham  came  to  his  assistance. 

"  Mr.  Egerton  had  a  bad  cold,  he  told  me  the  day  before 
yesterday,  and  to-day  you  see,  my  dear  sir,  he  has  taken  the 
first  opportunity  possible  to  come  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Claude  ;  "  you  make  more  excuses  for 
me  than  I  should  make  for  myself.  I  always  trust  to  my 
friends'  knowledge  of  me,  to  put  me  right  at  last.  I  don't 
think  I  am  given  to  change." 

The  Admiral  was  brought  round  by  having,  as  he  imag- 
ined, given  pain,  and  said,  heartily,  "Some  folks  might  stay 
away  for  ever,  and  I  wouldn't  ask  twice  for  them  ;  but  Claude 
Egerton  isn't  of  that  number.  Susan,  my  love,  aint  you 
tired?" 

Claude  brought  a.  chair  for  Susan  to  sit  down,  but  she  de- 
clined it.    "  I  suppose  I  could  not  take  your  duty  from  you," 


140 


IVORS. 


he  said,  and  he  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  laughingly  com- 
pared it  with  hers.  "I  should  scarcely  have  so  light  a 
touch." 

"  It's  a  woman's  business,"  said  Susan  ;  "  I  couldn't  give 
it  up." 

The  Admiral  caught  her  hand,  and  looked  at  it.  *  A 
useful  little  hand,  eh,  Frances  1 "  and  he  appealed  to  Mrs. 
Graham  :  "  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  We  have  tried  to  make  it  so ;  I  don't  know  how  we 
have  succeeded,"  was  the  reply. 

"Very  badly,"  said  Susan.  "Isabella  and  Anna  can 
both  make  cakes,  and  mine  are  all  so  heavy,  they  are  not 
eatable." 

"I  didn't  know  that  making. cakes  was  a  nineteenth  cen- 
tury accomplishment,"  observed  Claude.  "  I  fancied  that  it 
w;is  a  great-grandmother  practice." 

"  I  like  great-grandmother  practices,"  said  Susan. 

"  In  theory,"  remarked  Mrs.  Graham.  "  You  wouldn't 
like  them  if  you  had  to  carry  them  out  thoroughly." 

Claude  spoke  eagerly.     "  No,  indeed  ;  give  me  a  woman 
of  the  present  day,  if  she  is  fit  for  anything." 
"  If,"  muttered  the  Admiral  to  himself. 

Claude  continued :  "  It  is  not  fair  to  judge  of  any  age 
by  its  exceptions ;  one  must  take  classes  as  a  whole,  and  as 
they  are  represented  in  books  of  the  day.  Look  at  the  Spec- 
tator, for  instance,  a  very  fair  specimen  of  the  habits  and 
tone  of  mind  of  the  period.  One  would  scarcely  wish  to 
see  English  ladies  now,  what  English  ladies  were  when  the 
Spectator  was  the  popular  book  of  the  day." 

"  Fine  ladies  for  your  taste,  then !  "  said  the  Admiral, 
testily:  "singing,  dancing,  and  flirting,  and  reading  nov- 
els ;  that  is  not  our  way,  is  it,  my  little  Susan  1 " 

Susan  smiled,  was  going  to  reply,  but  hesitated. 

"  Please  speak,"  said  Claude  ;  "  say  what  you  were  going 
to  say." 


IYOKS.  141 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  understood  you,"  replied 
Susan,  slightly  blushing,  "  hut  perhaps  I  don't." 

"  I  think  you  do,  I  have  no  doubt  of  it ;  Mrs.  Graham 
I  am  sure  does." 

Susan  was  silent,  and  rubbed  a  little  more  diligently. 
Mrs.  Graham  answered  :  "  We  all  understand.  Queen 
Anne's  virtues  are  not  really  inconsistent  with  Queen  Victo- 
ria's ;  and  Queen  Victoria's  are  much  the  more  graceful  of  the 
two." 

"  And  I  like  graceful  virtues,"  said  Claude. 
"  Of  course,  all  young  men  do,"  muttered  the  Admiral. 
"  And  virtues  not  full-blown,   but  -opening,   ripening," 
said  Claude ;    "  giving   one  the   pleasure   of   interest   and 
hope." 

Mrs.  Graham  checked  a  smile  which  was  upon  her  lips, 
and,  said  rather  gravely :  "  Yes,  when  one  is  tolerably  sure 
that  they  will  eventually  come  to  perfection." 

"  One  may  be  sure  where  there  is  truth,  don't  you  think 
so  mamma  ?  "  said  Susan. 

Claude  interrupted  the  reply :  "  Truth,  candour,  warmth 
of  feeling — all  must  come  right  then." 
"  Pshaw  !  "  escaped  from  the  Admiral. 
Susan  spoke  again,  a  little  as  though  it  were  an  effort. 
"  One  can  bear  with  so  much  where  there  is  truth,  it  makes 
up  fur  so  many  faults." 

"  Yes,"  Claude  paused ;  and  the  next  moment  added 
hurriedly  :  "  and  where  there  have  been  temptations  and 
difficulties,  one  can't  be  surprised  at  faults." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  interrupted 
the  Admiral  gruffly;  "and  you  don't  know  yourself.  You 
had  better  all  go  up  stairs,  Frances,  and  take  off  your 
bonnets." 

Susan  stood  up ;  her  sisters  and  Mrs.  Graham  followed 
the  suggestion,  but  the  Admiral  detained  her,  he  wanted  his 
pillow  smoothed. 


1 42  ivors. 

Claude  was  silent  and  thoughtful.  Presently  he  said, 
abruptly,  "  Helen  wants  to  talk  to  you ;  you  will  be  at  Ivors 
church  to-morrow." 

"  I  hope  so — we  intend  to  be.  "We  shall  meet  after  the 
service." 

"  She  is  interested  in  Kate  Hope's  case,  and  would  like 
to  do  something  for  her." 

"  Would  she  ?  how  kind !  but  it  is  like  her,  she  is  always 
generous." 

She  has  more  money  than  she  knows  what  to  do  with," 
said  the  Admiral. 

"  A  reason  with  -many  people  for  doing  nothing,"  replied 
Claude. 

"  Helen  would  do  a  great  deal  if  she  were  put  in  the 
way  of  it,"  observed  Susan,  eagerly  ;  "  but  no  one  helps  her. 
She  always  makes  me  think  of  a  hidden  gem." 

"  A  diamond  uncut,"  said  Claude,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Eequiring  a  monstrous  deal  of  cutting,"  remarked  the 
Admiral,  quickly. 

Susan  leant  over  his  chair  and  kissed  him,  and  whispered 
that  he  was  hard  upon  Helen. 

He  looked  at  her  fondly,  sadly  :  "  Not  so  hard  upon  her, 
child,  as  you  are  upon  yourself:  now  run  away.*' 

Claude  followed  her  into  the  hall.  "  May  I  say  one  word 
to  you ;  I  would  have  said  it  to  Mrs.  Graham  if  she  had 
given  me  the  opportunity." 

Susan  stopped  to  listen  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Her 
manner  and  attitude,  so  simply  kind,  unaffected,  lady-like, 
though  without  any  pretension  to  actual  grace,  struck  him 
forcibly.  His  cold,  rather  stiff  tone  changed ;  he  spoke  to 
her  as  a  friend  :  "  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  me, — under- 
stand me, — you  will  not  think  I  am  taking  a  liberty ;  but  if 
you  can — the  poor  girl  is  an  object  of  interest  to  Helen,  and 
I  think  it  would  please  her  ;  it  might  be  good : " — he  cor- 


IV0E8.  143 

rected  himself,  and  concluded  nastily,  "  any  means  by  which 
she  could  be  put  in  the  way  of  being  useful  she  would  like 
I  said  I  would  mention  it." 

Susan  had  an  impulse  ;  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  yield- 
ing to  impulses,  but  she  did  to  this  one.  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  Claude,  and  said,  "Yes;  indeed  you  may  depend 
upon  it :  Helen  is  so  noble  she  can  never  live  for  herself." 
The  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks  in  a  moment,  as  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  had  betrayed  her  knowledge  of  his  feel- 
ings ;  and,  withdrawing  her  hand  with  difficulty  from 
Claude's  cordial  grasp,  she  hurried  up  stairs. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Tins  evening  was  a  happy  one  for  the  Admiral,  notwith- 
standing his  incipient  distrust  of  Claude  Egerton's  matrimo- 
nial intentions.  His  mind  had  retained  through  life  much 
of  a  child's  easy  forgetfulness  of  annoyance ;  and  when  he 
found  himself  tolerably  free  from  pain,  with  Mrs.  Graham  to 
talk  to  him,  Susan  sitting  by  his  gouty  stool  reading,  and 
Isabella  and  Anna  at  work  at  a  side-table,  just  as  if  they 
were  at  home,  he  forgot  everything  but  the  comfort  of  having 
loving  faces  around  him. 

"You  had  best  come  and  live  with  me  entirely,  Frances, 
as  I  have  told  you  many  times :  plenty  of  room  here,  and 
you'd  have  it  all  your  own  way."  Mrs.  Graham  smiled. 
'■Ali!  you  may  smile ;  I  know  what  you  think !  One  mind 
to-day,  another  to-morrow  ; — but  that's  not  my  fashion,  ex- 
eepl  (and  he  laughed)  when  the  twinges  conic,  and  then  you 
WOllld  hear  with  them." 

"I  might  hear  with  thembetter  than  you  would  with  us, 
niv  dear  sir; — you  have  lived  too  long  alone." 
7 


lii  IY01W- 

"  Bachelor  ways,  you  mean  ; — I  should  be  all  the  better 
for  being  worked  out  of  them." 

"  Not  at  seventy-eight.     You  would  grow  tired  of  us." 

"  And  we  should  grow  tired  of  you,  you  may  as  well 
add,"  said  the  Admiral. 

Mrs.  Graham  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  looked  round 
at  her  children. 

"  Tour  mother  and  I  want  some  quiet  words  together," 
said  the  Admiral.  "  There's  a  fire  burning  to  waste  in  the 
next  room ;  take  your  work  in  there,  girls.  No  offence,  Su- 
san," and  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  her ;  "  you  shall  come 
back  before  long.  Isabella,  you  don't  mind  being  treated 
like  a  child  %  "  Isabella  came  up  to  his  chair : — "  You  look 
better  and  brighter  than  you  used  to  do,  my  pretty  one  ; — 
go  and  dance  the  polka,  if  you  like  it,  in  there." 

Isabella  laughed.  "We  are  too  busy  for  the  polka. 
Mamma,  we  needn't  hurry  about  going  to  bed  if  we  have  not 
finished  our  work  %  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  stay  up  all  night,  if  you  like  it.  Liberty 
Hall  here !  "  said  the  Admiral.  "  Not  a  word,  Frances ;  I 
am  master  in  my  own  house." 

"Exactly  what  I  wish  you  always  to  remain,  my  dear 
sir,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  as  her  children  left  the  room ;  and, 
laying  her  hand  kindly  upon  his,  she  added,  "  and  what  you 
scarcely  could  be  if  we  lived  with  you." 

"  And  why  not  ?  What's  to  hinder  me  from  going  my 
way,  and  you  from  going  yours  ?  " 

"  Because  our  interests  would  be  different." 

"  I  don't  see  that." 

"  Our  objects,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  say,"  replied  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  I  am  bound  to  consult  what  I  think  to  be  my  chil- 
dren's good." 

"Well,  and  they  would  learn  no  harm  here,"  said  the 
Admiral. 


ivors.  145 

"  Xo  harin ;  but  would  it  be  for  their  highest  good  ?  We 
should  differ  sometimes  about  that." 

"And  I  should  give  in,"  said  the  Admiral:  "I  have 
given  in  all  my  life.     You  may  laugh,  but  I  have." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  know  you  have  given  in  continually  in 
great  matters,  but  in  little  ones  I  don't  think  you  know  how 
you  would  be  fretted." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  give  in  sometimes,"  said  the  Ad- 
miral. 

"  Ah !  Jhere  would  be  the  difficulty.  I  am  afraid  I 
couldn't  promise." 

"  What !  not  with  all  your  boast  of  fine  principles. 
Where's  the  use  of  them  %  " 

"I  try  not  to  boast,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham,  quietly. 
"  What  I  fear  is,  that  my  principles  would  teach  me  not  to 
give  in,  and  that  in  consequence  we  should  not  be  happy. 
The  children  require  so  much  careful  training  still." 

"  Children !  Fine  young  women,  you  mean  !  It's  a 
shame  to  keep  them  in  leading-strings." 

"  Exactly  so  ;  but  then  I  must  try  and  place  them  where 
they  can  best  learn  to  run  alone." 

"  Well !  and  there's  room  enough  here." 

"  Too  much.  A  great  deal  of  space,  and  not  sufficient 
to  occupy  it.  I  mean,"  added  Mrs.  Graham,  seeing  the  Ad- 
miral's impatient  expression  of  countenance,  "  that  to  bring 
them  here  would  be  removing  them  from  all  their  little  du- 
ties and  interests  in  Wingfield,  and  placing  them  in  a  posi- 
tion of  luxury  to  which  they  have  never  been  accustomed, 
and  which  could  not  be  theirs  for  life." 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  be,  why  I  am  to  think  so 
much  of  my  nephews  and  cousins,"  muttered  the  Admiral. 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  know  we  have  discussed  tbat  point 
before,  when  we  were  not  influenced  by  private  wishes.  We 
both  feel  that  Cod,  by  our  natural  relationships,  marks  oul 


116  IVOKS. 

the  cliannels  in  which  our  wealth,  if  we  have  it,  is  ordinarily 
to  flow.  You  could  not  give,  and  I  could  not  receive  consis- 
tently with  our  notions  of  justice.  We  have  gone  on  hap- 
pily for  several  years  with  this  understanding,  why  should  it 
be  altered  nowl " 

"  But  you  might  live  here  for  the  present,"  repeated  the 
Admiral,  turning  from  the  subject  Avhich  he  disliked,  to  that 
which  pleased  him.  Mrs.  Graham  only  smiled.  She  did 
not  dare  remind  him  again,  that  the  next  day  his  wishes 
might  change  ;  but,  dwelling  upon  her  own  feelings,  she  said, 
"  I  think,  if  you  understood  my  three  girls  thoroughly,  you 
would  see  how  much  better  suited  to  them  their  present  life 
is,  than  that  which  they  would  lead  here.  They  want  occu- 
pation, all  of  them,  Isabella  especially;  she  is  so  morbid, 
naturally ;  her  mind  preys  upon  itself  if  it  has  not  enough 
to  interest  it  in  others." 

"  She  would  be  dull  here,"  said  the  Admiral,  a  little 
moodily. 

"Xot  dull,  exactly,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham;  "but  the 
easy,  luxurious  life  would  foster  all  her  weaknesses.  She  is 
very  excitable,  enthusiastically  fond  of  music  and  poetry, 
and  can't  exist  in  inaction.  With  a  mind  of  that  descrip- 
tion it  is  not  enough  for  safety,  at  least  so  I  think,  to  live 
out  of  the  gay  world  and  avoid  novels  and  poetry.  Imagi- 
nation will  supply  all  these,  and  do  quite  as  much  mischief. 
What  is  wanted  is  healthy  occupation,  kind  sympathies, 
something  which  shall  draw  it  out  of  itself  in  thought  for 
others.  Ease  and  leisure  would  do  Isabella  more  harm  than 
foolish  books." 

"  And  so  you  are  all  to  sacrifice  yourselves  to  Isabella  ?  " 
said  the  Admiral. 

"  I  could  say  something  of  the  same  kind  as  regards  the 
others,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Anna  has  a  superabundant 
amount  of  energy,  which  would  make  her  perfectly  miser- 


IVOKS.  147 

able  if  it  had  not  some  vent.  And  she  is  not  old  enough  to 
find  this  for  herself,  wherever  she  may  he ;  and  Susan " 

"  Ave !  mv  little  Susan !  what  fault  do  you  find  with 
her  ?  " 

"Xone,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  emphatically;  "of  all  my 
children,  she  is  the  most  fitted  for  any  position  ;  about  whom 
I  have  the  least  anxiety." 

"  Any  position,"  murmured  the  Admiral.  He  moved 
himself  round  slowly,  looked  Mrs.  Graham  fully  in  the  face, 
and  added  j  "  Claude  Egerton  is  a  fool." 

Mrs.  Graham  became  suddenly  pale,  but  she  answered 
calmly,  "  God's  Providence  is  in  these  things.  We  had  bet- 
ter not  speak  of  them.  No  doubt  Mr.  Egerton  will  choose 
for  his  own  happiness." 

"  Folly  !  Frances,  you  make  me  angry.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that,  if  Claude  throws  himself  away  upon  yonder  gay, 
singiag,  flirting  mrl  at  Ivors,  he  will  have  half  the  chance 
of  happiness  that  he  would  have  if  he  took  to  our  little 
Susan  >.  " 

"  Helen  does  not  flirt,  dear  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  earn- 
estly ;  "  and  Susan  is — may  be — too  like  Claude  to  make 
him  happy." 

"  Too  like  !  what  on  earth  do  men  require  in  a  wife  but 
something  like  themselves?" 

"  They  require  what  they  want,  not  what  they  have,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Humph!   was  the  Admiral's  only  reply. 

Mrs.  Graham  continued,  "You  will  forgive  me,  I  am 
sine,  for  asking  that  this  subject  may  be  a  sealed  one  be- 
tween us.  I  have  the  greatest  dread  of  allowing  my  mind 
to  form  any  wishes  in  such  matters:  I  could  never  trust  my- 
self in  action  if  I  did.  Of  course  I  don't  mean  that  I  would 
interfere  to  prevent  my  children  from  marrying,  but  I  would 
wish  to  leave  such  an  event  simply  and  entirely  in  the  hands 


14S  IVORS. 

of  God.  Especially  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  I  see  rea- 
son to  believe  that  He  has  ordered  a  certain  course  of  circum- 
stances, I  should  desire  to  acquiesce  in  it,  and,  as  far  as  I 
might  be  permitted,  to  further  it." 

"  I  don't  see  the  thing  as  you  do.  That  old  step-mother 
rets  the  snare,  and  he  falls  into  it." 

Mrs.  Graham  could  scarcely  restrain  a  smile,  but  she  an- 
swered gravely,  "I  am  afraid  we  look  at  instruments  till  we 
forget  the  Hand  that  guides  them.  It  is  no  matter  to  me  how 
the  feeling  may  have  been  brought  about,  if  only  it  exists." 
"  But  does  he  care  for  her  1  What  does  he  see  in  her 
beyond  her  prettty  face  %  "  inquired  the  Admiral. 

"  A  great  deal,  I  dare  say,  which  I  can  see  too,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  Helen  is  to  me  my  sister's  child,  not  Lady 
Augusta's  step-daughter." 

"  Ah :  well,  yes  !  "  muttered  the  Admiral,  more  compla- 
cently. "  But  I  can't  forget ; — she's  been  trained,  taught. 
The  old  woman  has  been  at  her  ever  since  she  was  seven 
years  old." 

"  And  has  done  marvellously  little  to  ruin  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham.  "  Helen's  faults  are  external.  Lady  Augusta  has 
never  destroyed  the  truth  of  her  character." 

"  And  you  wouldn't  try  to  set  Claude  Egerton  right  %  " 
asked  the  Admiral,  in  a  tone  which  showed  that  he  was 
ashamed  of  his  own  proposition.  "  You  wouldn't  bring  him 
and  Susan  together,  and  open  his  eyes  before  it  is  too  late  %  " 
Mrs.  Graham  started.  "  Not  for  the  world !  It  might 
be  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  both,  even  if  it  were  not  cruel 
to  Helen." 

"  And  if  Susan  loses  her  heart  without  our  troubling  our- 
selves ?  "  said  the  Admiral :  "  such  things  have  been." 

"  And  may  be,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham,  thoughtfully  and 
sadly  ;  "  but  I  have  the  greatest  confidence  in  Susan.  She 
is  quite  aware  that  Mr.  Egerton  admires  Helen ;  even  if  the 


iyoes.  149 


feeling  goes  no  farther,  that  alone  would  be  a  sufficient  safe- 
guard." 

t;  You  women  have  such  trust  in  yourselves,"  was  the 
Admiral's  reply,  as  he  rang  the  bell  for  tea ;  and  a  pang, 
shot  through  Mrs.  Graham's  heart,  which  she  did  not  pause 
to  analyse. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Christmas  service  at  Ivors  church  was  over.  Sir  Henry, 
Lady  Augusta,  and  Maurice  waited  in  the  church  porch  for 
the  carriage.  Claude  and  Helen  walked  towards  the  gate 
leading  into  the  high  road.  They  were  silent.  Claude 
looked  back  occasionally  at  the  church,  but  Helen's  eyes  were 
bent  upon  the  ground. 

"  We  will  come  this  way,"  said  Claude,  as  a  party  of 
strangers,  talking  loudly,  followed  closely  upon  them.  He 
turned  into  a  little  side-path,  carefully  kept,  and  marked  at 
intervals  by  fuschsias  and  laurels.  It  led  them  by  a  large 
stone  tomb  enclosed  by  high  railings. 

Helen  paused  before  it,  and  Claude  saw  that  he  had 
brought  her  to  her  mother's  grave. 

He  read  the  inscription  to  himself,  with  the  text,  "  God 
be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner." 

"  It  was  her  own  choice,"  said  Helen.  "  She  was  very 
li  arable." 

"  And  true,  and  earnest,"  continued  Claude :  "  I  felt  it 
when  I  saw  her,  though  it  was  once  only  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"She  was  like  Aunt  Fanny,"  said  Helen.  "  Papa  says  1 
might  have  been  like  her  too  if  she  had  lived ;  but  that 
could  not  have  been." 

"  Claude  regarded  her  earnestly.    "  Is  it  so  impossible?" 


150  IVORS. 

"  I  am  wilful,"  said  Helen,  "  and  changeable,  and— oh ! 
more  than  you  know  or  can  think  ; "  and  she  stooped  down 
to  gather  an  ivy  leaf,  and  turned  away  her  head  to  hide  the 
tears  which  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  humble,"  said  Claude,  gently,  "  if  you  think  of 
yourself  so." 

Helen  raised  herself,  and  looked  at  him  fixedly.  "  No, 
not  humble.  I  speak  evil  of  myself,  but  I  could  not  bear 
that  others  should  speak  evil  of  me.  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  say  this,"  she  added ;  "  some  think  that  it  is  bad  to 
talk  of  oneself,  even  of  one's  faults." 

"  To  some  persons,  perhaps, — those  who  do  not  care  for 
or  feel  with  you,"  said  Claude,  his  voice  slightly  trembling  ; 
"  but,  Helen,  that  would  not  be  with  me." 

"  It  may  be  better  that  it  should  be,"  she  replied.  "  You 
would  soon  be  weary  of  my  confessions." 

"  Scarcely,  if  I  could  be  any  comfort  or  help  to  you." 

Helen  smiled.  There  might  have  been  a  little  disdain  in 
the  expression,  and  Claude,  in  a  moment,  was  chilled ;  and 
added,  coldly  "  Of  course,  I  have  no  wish  to  intrude  upon 
your  confidence." 

Helen  answered  him  frankly: — "I  annnoyed  you  by 
smiling ;  you  are  very  apt  to  take  offence.  I  was  not  think- 
ing of  you,  but  of  myself,  and  the  hopelessness  of  making 
you  or  any  one  understand  a  maze  of  inconsistencies." 

"  And  therefore  you  will  never  give  any  one  the  opportu- 
nity of  trying  to  understand  them,"  said  Claude. 

"  It  is  not  a  case  for  experiment,"  said  Helen.  "  If  we 
give  our  confidence,  and  are  not  understood,  there  is  a  bar- 
rier raised  for  ever.  No,  Claude,  if  we  are  to  be  friends,  we 
had  better  be  contented  to  remain  as  we  are,  enigmas  to 
each  other." 

"  Am  I  an  enigma  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  in  many  ways :  what  you  live  for,  what  you  care 


ITOKS.  151 

for,  why  you  should  throw  so  much  energy  into  everything 
you  do, — into  all  this  parliamentary  business,  for  instance. 
Some  people  understand  it,  I  see.  Aunt  Fanny  does ;  so 
does  Susan :  their  minds  are  like  yours." 

"  Their  principles,  perhaps,  rather,"  said  Claude.  "  In 
some  things  we  must  all  he  alike,  Helen.  We  have  the 
same  feelings,  passions,  affections.  There  must,  therefore, 
he    the    groundwork  of  mutual    understanding  between  us 

all,  especially .     We  have  known  each  other  so  many 

years." 

"  Not  known,"  said  Helen.  "  We  don't  know  each  other 
now."  She  spoke  rather  sadly,  and  moved  on,  seemingly 
anxious  to  he  with  the  rest  of  the  party.  Claude  followed 
her.  They  drew  near  to  Lady  Augusta.  Mrs.  Graham  and 
Susan  had  joined  her  ;  Isabella  and  Anna  were  already  gone. 
Claude  quickened  his  step,  and  came  up  to  Helen  as  they 
approached  the  porch.  "  I  am  going  to  the  Lodge,"  he  said  : 
"  would  it  be  impossible  for  you  to  go  too  ?  " 

Helen  hesitated.     "  I  am  not  sure  :  I  should  like  it." 

Claude  caught  at  the  Avords,  "  like  it."  "  Should  you 
really?  There  could  be  no  reason  against  it.  And  I  might 
explain, — if  it  were  possible,  that  is, — and  if  you  would  care 
to  hear.     I  would  rather  not  be  an  enigma  to  you." 

Helen  was  silent. 

"  May  I  propose  it?  l)o  you  think  Lady  Augusta  would 
object  ?  "  he  added,  anxiously. 

Helen's  answer  was  still  indistinct.  Hurrying  forward, 
she  left  him,  and  began  talking  quickly,  and  rather  nervous- 
ly, to  her  Aunt  and  Susan. 

Claude  lingered.  His  heart  beat  so  rapidly  that  he  was 
almost  faint.  Yet  why  should  it?  He  had  risen  that  morn- 
ing calm,  collected,  strong  in  purpose,  renouncing,  as  he  be- 
lieved, all  thought  of  Helen  as  she  might  be, — looking  upon 
her  only  as   she   was.      lie   had   compared   her  with  his  own 


152  ivoes. 

ideal,  and  with  Susan  Graham's  excellencies,  and  pronounced 
her  wanting.  He  had  said  to  himself  that  the  Admiral  was 
riffht  and  she  was  unsuited  to  him, — that  she  could  not 
make  him  happy, — that  she  would  disappoint  him, — that  it 
was  vain  to  think  of  educating  a  woman  after  marriage, — ■ 
that  the  petty  distractions  and  frettings  of  domestic  life 
must  mar  the  work.  He  had  reasoned  like  a  sage  ;  and  then 
he  had  gone  down  to  breakfast, — listened  to  Helen's  sweet, 
cordial  tones  of  Christmas  greeting, — watched  her,  as  with 
her  animation,  grace,  and  beauty,  she  made  herself  the  life 
and  ornament  of  the  breakfast  party, — walked  in  the  colon- 
nade, and  thought  of  her, — accompanied  her  to  church,  and 
knelt  by  her, — and  the  reason  of  the  sage  was  gone. 

A  weak  man  might  have  dreaded  his  weakness.  Claude 
Egerton,  strong  in  his  strength,  placed  himself  without  fear 
in  the  post  of  danger.  He  came  up  to  Helen  and  Susan 
just  as  they  were  told  the  carriage  was  ready,  and  whilst 
Susan  was  beginning  to  talk  to  Helen  about  Kate  Hope. 
Helen  said  nothing  about  going  to  the  Lodge  ;  she  might  have 
forgotten  it  or  changed  her  mind.  She  only  seemed  desirous 
that  her  cousin  should  be  at  Ivors  very  early  the  next  day, 
in  order  that  they  might  have  some  time  together  before  the 
arrival  of  the  visitors,  who  were  to  be  present  at  the  school 
feast.  All  her  interest  seemed  concentrated  in  this;  she 
scarcely  noticed  Claude,  and  answered  him  abruptly  wThen  he 
addressed  her.  Claude  was  better  then ;  more  the  master 
of  himself,  but  he  was  still  bent  upon  having  Helen  with 
him.  He  recollected  that  he  was  anxious  for  her  good,  and 
had  wished  her  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Graham  and  Susan  about 
Kate  Hope,  in  order  to  give  her  some  feeling  of  usefulness. 
He  was  not  aware  that  any  other  motive  influenced  him ; 
but  when  Lady  Augusta  summoned  Helen  to  the  carriage, 
he  interposed  his  own  wish.  "  It  seemed  a  pity,"  he  said, 
"  to  interrupt  Helen  and  Miss  Graham  when  they  were  so 


ivoes.  153 

busy  with  their  conversation.  If  Lady  Augusta  did  not  ob- 
ject, he  was  going  himself  to  the  Lodge  for  luncheon,  and  if 
Helen  liked  to  go  too,  he  could  easily  fscort  her  back,  the 
distance  was  not  great."  Lady  Augusta  was  only  too  will- 
ing, as  long  as  "  dear  Helen  "  did  not  tire  herself,  that  was 
the  only  thing  to  be  considered ;  and  Claude  turned  to 
Helen,  considering  her  assent  a  matter  of  course. — and 
Helen  declined. 

Claude  went  to  the  Lodge ;  but  even  Mrs.  Graham's 
charity  could  scarcely  allow  that  he  was  agreeable.  Cer- 
tainly not  as  he  should  have  been  on  Christmas  Day. 

Helen  had  acted  from  instinct.  She  had  no  time  for  rea- 
son, and  at  the  moment  no  particular  cause  for  feeling.  It 
was  only  when  she  reached  home,  and  thought  over  the  little 
incidents  of  the  morning,  that  she  could  at  all  understand 
why  she  had  so  suddenly  changed  her  mind.  And  even  then 
it  was  not  clear  to  her.  She  shrank  from  putting  an  inter- 
pretation upon  Claude's  manner  which  it  might  not  properly 
bear.  It  seemed  undignified,  unwomanly,  to  suspect  feel- 
ings which  might  have  no  existence ;  she  turned  away  from 
the  thought;  it  disturbed  her.  She  liked  Claude  very 
much  ;  it  pleased  her  to  talk  with  him,  he  was  a  person  who 
she  felt  might  do  her  good,  give  her  interest,  even  gain  her 
confidence,  but  this  was  all.  She  laid  aside  her  bonnet  and 
cloak,  and  with  them  determined  to  lay  aside  these  new,  un- 
comfortable suspicions  ;  but  the  resolution  was  more  easily 
made  than  kept.  Claude  came  back  from  the  Lodge,  grave 
and  out  of-  spirits  ;  and  Helen  found  herself  wondering  what 
was  the  cause.  She  tried  to  speak  to  him  in  her  usual  tone, 
but  his  answers  were  short ;  he  would  not  carry4  on  any  con- 
versation. At  last  even  Sir  Henry  remarked  his  manner, 
and  then  he  said  he  had  a  headache,  and  went  to  his  room. 
Helen  thought  him  cross  and  disagreeable,  and  was  disap- 
pointed  in   him.     She  had  fancied   him   above   fits  of   ill- 


154  ivoes. 

humour ;  and  if  he  was  ill,  it  was  weak  and  unmanly  to  give 
way.  lie  appeared  at  dinner  time,  better,  and  more  like 
himself;  but  still  he*talked  entirely  to  Sir  Henry  upon  poli- 
tics, and  Lady  Augusta  could  with  difficulty  make  him  give 
his  opinion  upon  the  few  questions  which  arose  as  to  the  next 
day's  procedings. 

Altogether  it  was  a  dull,  uncomfortable  Christmas  Day, 
and  entirely  owing  to  Claude.  Helen  went  to  bed  really 
angry  with  him.  In  the  morning  she  had  been  particularly 
happy,  because  particularly  full  of  good  resolutions.  The 
service  at  church  had  soothed  her,  and  the  short  conversation 
with  Claude  had  touched,  and  softened,  and  given  her  hope 
of  sympathy.  That  all  should  have  vanished  so  suddenly 
Avithout  cause,  was  provoking  and  perplexing.  Life  was  as 
unsatisfactory  as  ever  to  her  before  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
pillow  that  night,  for  if  a  gleam  of  sunshine  came,  it  seemed 
destined  to  be  immediately  darkened  with  a  cloud. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


"  Dear  Susan,  this  really  is  most  delightful,"  was  Helen's 
exclamation,  the  next  morning  when,  about  eleven  o'clock, 
Susan  made  her  appearance,  in  what  was  especially  called 
Miss  Clare's  room.  "  I  was  so  afraid  when  I  heard  the  bell, 
that  it  was  that  dreadful  woman,  Miss  Manners." 

"  I  passed  her  on  the  road,  I  suspect,"  replied  Susan,  "  in 
a  By ;  her  man  on  the  box,  and  her  maid  inside ;  and  such 
an  array  of  luggage !  Does  she  always  arrive  so  early,  and 
with  such  appurtenances  %  She  must  be  a  trying  individual 
to  live  with." 

"  Rise  at  five,  coffee  at  seven,  breakfast  at  ten,  luncheon 
at  two.  dinner  at  six,  tea  at  eight,  supper  at  eleven.     I  have 


ivoes.  155 

heard  her  run  through  the  hours  fifty  times.  She  looks  upon 
her  mode  of  life,  as  I  suppose  a  monk  of  La  Trappe  does 
upon  his  silence.  It  covers  all  sins.  The  one  thing  she 
can't  pardon  is  sleep." 

"  May  it  never  be  my  fate  to  live  with  her,"  said  Susan, 
"  though  I  could  envy  her.  We  were  late  last  night,  and  I 
feel  now,  in  consequence,  as  if  I  had  been  at  a  ball." 

"  Late !  were  you  1  "  said  Helen,  "  and  merry,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Yes,  very.  The  Admiral  was  in  such  high  spirits  at 
having  us  with  him." 

"  Just  the  reverse  of  us.  We  were  in  the  depths  of  dul- 
ness ;  Claude  Egerton  worst  of  all.  What  did  you  do  to 
him,  Susan,  at  the  Lodge  ?  " 

"  He  was  very  dull  with  us,"  said  Susan,  "  and  I 
thought" — she  paused. 

"  "Well !  what  did  you  think  I  I  long  to  have  an  excuse 
for  him." 

"  I  thought,"  and  Susan  seemed  a  little  confused,  and 
afraid  of  her  own  words,  "  that  perhaps  he  would  have  been 
better  pleased  if  you  had  been  there  to  walk  back  with  him." 

Helen  laughed  consciously.  "  He  asked  me.  I  thought 
I  would  ;  but — I  don't  know  why — I  changed  my  mind  when 
i    came  to  the  point." 

"  He  won't  like  that,"  said  Susan,  rather  gravely. 

"Which  won't  much  signify  to  me,"  replied  Helen. 

Susan  looked  up  quickly.  "  Do  you  mean  you  would 
really  not  care  to  vex  him  %  " 

'■('are  !   why  should  I?" 

"He  is  so  good,"  said  Susan.  "I  should  be  very  sorry 
to  worry  him." 

"  Precisely  the  reason  why  I  enjoy  it.  Don't  put  on 
that  demure  look,  Susan,  dear.  It  is  only,  you  know,  for 
the  pleasure  of  bringing  out  his  goodness.  Bui  what  makes 
you  so  bent  upon  upholding  him  ?  " 


156  ivors. 

"It  is  merely  because  I  respect  him  very  much,"  re- 
plied Susan. 

"  And  so  do  I  sometimes  respect  him,  till  I  am  out  of 
breath  with  respect ;  but  it  is  not  a  very  pleasant  feeling." 

"Don't  you  think  so?"  said  Susan,  quietly. 

"  No,  any  more  than  it  is  pleasant  to  raise  one's  head  till 
it  aches,  for  the  gratification  of  looking  at  a  painted  ceiling : 
one  loses  all  sense  of  pleasure  in  the  painfulness  of  the  posi- 
tion. Give  me  something  that  I  may  laugh  at,  and  with ; 
tease  with  one  moment  and  make  friends  with  the  next. 
That  will  never  be  Claude  Egerton." 

"  Never !  "  said  Susan,  emphatically.  "  But,  Helen,  if 
you  were  not  always  true,  I  should  think  now  that  you  were 
untrue." 

"Should  you — why?"  and  Helen  slightly  coloured. 

"  Because  it  is  not  the  way  you  used  to  talk.  You  have 
agreed  with  me  so  often  in  liking  people  who  are  superior." 

"Perhaps  I  have  in  other  cases." 

"Perhaps  you  agree  in  this,  only  you  won't  acknow- 
ledge it !  " 

"  I  don't  know."  Helen's  manner  changed,  and  she 
became  more  serious.  "  I  might  have  said  differently  yes- 
terday, but  I  can't  bear  moods ;  and  if  he  is  so  respectable, 
why  does  he  have  them  %  " 

"If  you  yourself  caused  them,"  replied  Susan,  "you 
ought  not  to  complain  of  them."  There  was  some  hesitation 
in  the  tone  in  which  this  Avas  said,  and  Susan's  eyes  for  one 
moment  rested  anxiously  on  her  cousin,  and  then  were  bent 
again  upon  the  ground. 

"  He  has  no  right  to  have  moods  because  of  anything 
which  I  do,"  answered  Helen,  with  some  dignity  ;  "  we  are 
friends  only." 

Susan  started, — Lady  Augusta's  name  escaped  her  lips, 
and  then  she  was  silent. 


ivoes.  157 

Helen  regarded  her  in  surprise.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  all  this,  Susan  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  There  is  some  mys- 
tery." 

"  Xone,  nothing, — dear  Helen,  we  may  all  have  heen 
mistaken." 

Helen  drew  herself  up.  "  You  are,  indeed,  if  you  think 
that  Claude  is  anything  to  me,  or  that  I  am  anything  to 
him.  I  don't  understand  interference  with  my  private 
feelings." 

"  Then  your  private  feelings  should  not  be  spoken  of  so 
loudly,  my  love !  "  said  a  voice  behind  her.  And  Helen  and 
Susan  turned  and  saw  Lady  Augusta. 

Helen's  cheek  flushed  angrily.     "  My  own  room  !     I  did 

not  expect "      She  paused,  not  daring  to  trust  herself. 

Susan,  though  unconscious  of  any  offence,  was  the  picture  of 
guilt. 

"  A  room  ceases  to  be  private,  Helen,"  said  Lady  Au- 
gusta, with  quiet  sarcasm,  "  when  the  door  is  left  open,  and 
conversation  is  carried  on  in  a  tone  which  may  be  heard  by 
the  whole  house.  Susan,  you  will  excuse  my  requesting  you 
to  leave  us  ;  and,"  she  thought  for  an  instant, — "  I  must  beg 
that  none  of  Helen's  imprudent  and  undignified  remarks  may 
be  repeated." 

Helen's  face  expressed  the  wild  passion  of  her  childhood. 
She  caught  her  cousin's  hand,  as  Susan  Avas  leaving  the 
room,  and  exclaimed:  "Tell  her,  Susan,  tell  her; — what 
have  I  said?  Imprulent,  undignified!  I  spoke  but  the 
truth,  and  I  will  say  it  again  before  fifty  thousand  wit- 
nesses." 

"  That  will  not  be  required,  my  love  ;  even  one  may  be 
too  many.     Susan,  I  must  again  beg  you  to  leave  us." 

And  Helen  tossed  her  cousin's  hand  away,  exclaiming : 
"  Yes,  go  ;  I  am  equal  to  my  own  cause  !  "   and  with  a  sud 
den  check  upon  herself,  sat  down  opposite  to  Lady  Augusta; 


15S  IVORS. 

her  hands  folded  together,  her  figure  upright  and  still,— only 
betraying  her  feelings  by  the  sudden  paleness  of  her  face  and 
the  deep  crimson  spot  which  burned  upon  it. 

Lady  Augusta  carefully  closed  the  door,  returned  again 
to  the  fire,  and  stirred  it  with  the  most  provoking  slowness ; 
then,  standing  before  it,  said  in  the  same  unruffled  manner : 
"  This  excitement,  Helen,  does  not  suit  you ;  it  belongs  to 
your  childhood.     I  desire  only  to  give  you  a  warning." 

"  I  will  take  care  to  guard  against  interruption  another 
time,"  replied  Helen. 

"You  are  angry,  my  love,  unjustly.  I  wish  there  was 
no  one  in  the  house  who  had  more  reason  for  anger.     But 

Claude,  alas  !  " 

"  Mamma  !  "  Helen  rose  from  her  seat,  and  came  oppo- 
site to  Lady  Augusta,  and  spoke  in  a  tone  harsh  with  agita- 
tion :  "  I  don't  wish  to  hear  his  name." 

"  Yet  he  may  wish  to  hear  yours,  Helen  ;  and  he  would 
have  great  cause  for  complaint,  if  he  were  to  know  the  tone 
in  which  you  think  fit  to  speak  of  him." 

"  I  am  free,"  exclaimed  Helen ;  "  my  opinion  and  my 

feelings  are  my  own.    Claude  has  never  given  me  cause " 

she  stopped,  remembered  his  manner  on  the  preceding  day, 
and  was  silent. 

"  Conscience !  I  see  it,"  continued  Lady  Augusta ; 
"  Claude  has  given  you  cause,  at  least,  to  treat  him  with  the 
respect  due  to  a  man  who  looks  upon  you  with  more  than 
common  interest." 

"  I  can't  weigh  the  difference  between  common  and  un 
common  interest,"  replied  Helen ;  "  but  it  frets  me,  it  would 
fret  any  one,  to  have  feelings  imagined  which  don't  exist." 

li  Not  on  your  side,  probably,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
quietly. 

"•  Nor  on  Claude's! "  exclaimed  Helen;  yet  the  denial 
was  accompanied  by  a  glance  which  seemed  as  if  it  would 


ivoks.  159 

penetrate  into  the  secret  recesses  of  Lady  Augusta's  know- 
ledge. 

But  no  glance  had  ever  yet  mastered  the  intricacies  of 
the  chambers  of  that  heart ;  and  Lady  Augusta,  with  perfect 
placidity,  answered:  "You  must  not  inquire  as  to  Claude's 
feelings  from  me.  Those  who  know  the  most  are  seldom  the 
most  at  liberty  to  speak  ;  but  I  would  warn  you,  Helen,  that 
a  careless  word  may,  when  we  little  think  it,  wound  the  ten- 
derest  point.  If  you  do  not  care  for  Claude,  at  least  do  not 
be  unkind  to- him." 

Helen's  £yes  filled  with  tears  of  self-reproach.  "Un- 
kind !  Mamma,  you  know  I  would  not  pain  even  an  insect. 
But  it  is  not  true — it  is  impossible.  He  cannot  like  " — she 
stopped — "yes,  he  does  like  me,  but," — a  burning  blush 
crimsoned  her  face, — "  he  cannot  love  me." 

Lady  Augusta  kissed  her, — it  was  her  only  reply, — and 
left  the  room. 

Two  o'clock  came ;  the  Ivors  household  was  in  a  state  of 
unwonted  agitation.  There  was  to  be  an  early  dinner, — a 
sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  duty.  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  and  Mrs. 
Grey  had  just  arrived,  and  were  gone  up  stairs  to  take  off 
their  bonnets.  Miss  Manners  and  Maurice's  friend,  Mr. 
Pearson,  had  made  their  appearance  more  than  an  hour  be- 
fore ;  Miss  Manners  having  seized  upon  the  gentleman,  with 
whom  she  had  a  slight  acquaintance,  as  he  was  walking  from 
Wingfield,  and  forced  him  to  share  her  fly,  in  order  that 
she  might  learn  the  latest  Oxford  intelligence. 

Claude  wandered  from  room  to  room  in  the  midst  of  the 
bustle,  very  much  as  if  he  had  no  concern  in  it,  though  Lady 
Augusta  put  him  prominently  forward,  introducing  him  to 
her  guests  as  the  real  cause  of  the  festivities.  She  seized 
upon  him  before  dinner,  and  when  she  was  going  up  stairs 
with  Lady  Louisa  Stuart, — "Louisa,  my  dear,  Mr.  EgertOn, 
our  new  member;  our  own  member,  I  should  say;    Claude, 


160  IVORS. 

Lady  Louisa  Stuart.  I  am  quite  glad  to  have  the  opportu- 
nity of  introducing  two  such  good  conservatives  to  each 
other." 

"  Every  new  member  on  the  side  of  established  principle 
is  a  great  gain  in  these  troubled  days,"  began  Lady  Louisa, 
speaking  with  a  full  round  voice,  which  seemed  to  encase  her 
words  and  give  them  double  force.  "  What  is  it  the  Arch- 
bishop of  York  says  % — 

"  "We  are  all  diseased, 
And  with  our  surfeiting  and  wanton  hours 
Have  brought  ourselves  into  a  burning  fever, 
And  we  must  bleed  for  it." 

Claude  looked  a  surprised  ignorance  both  of  surfeiting 
and  fever.  Lady  Augusta  laughed.  "  You  forget,  my  dear 
Louisa,  that  the  only  archbishop  likely  to  be  reckoned 
amongst  Mr.  Egerton's  acquaintances  is  a  worthy  gentleman 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  But  Claude  will  understand 
soon.  It  is  very  pleasant,  very  fresh  and  inspiriting,  to  live 
in  those  wonderful  Shakesperian  days,  as  if  they  were  real. 
I  quite  long  to  see  that  little  Essay  on  '  Much  Ado  about 
Nothing,'  which  you  promised  to  send  me  the  other  day. 
What !  mustn't  I  speak  about  it  1 "  for  Lady  Louisa's  face 
expressed  a  proper  amount  of  bashfulness  on  the  subject  of 
her  own  compositions.  "  You  needn't  mind  Claude  ;  he  is 
quite  one  of  ourselves — quite.  By-the-by,  Claude,  do  me 
the  favour  just  to  look  into  the  library,  and  see  if  Helen  is 
there,  and  tell  her  I  want  to  speak  to  her  in  my  dressing- 
room." 

Claude  obeyed,  listening,  whilst  he  crossed  the  hall,  to 
the  rolling  tones  of  Lady  Louisa's  voice,  as  she  walked 
slowly  up  the  stairs,  discoursing  in  sentences  which,  if  they 
were  not  Shakesperian,  were  formed  after  the  same  model. 

Jle  found  Helen  in  the  library,  Miss  Manners  with  her. 


IVORS.  161 

He  knew  it  must  be  Miss  Manners,  from  her  sharp  features, 
restless  eye,  and  the  easy  tone  which  none  but  a  very  dear 
friend  of  Lady  Augusta  would  have  ventured  to  adopt  with 
Helen.  She  was  at  home  with  Claude  directlv,  no  introduc- 
tion  was  required :  "  Mr.  Egerton,  of  course ;  I  knew  it 
must  be — a  singular  consciousness  that  is,  which  touches  the 
inward  perception  so  instantaneously." 

Claude  bowed,  and  gave  his  message ;  Miss  Manners  lis- 
tened with  the  air  of  one  who  considered  that  it  equally  con- 
cerned herself,  and  delivered  her  opinion  upon  it.  "  You 
must  go,  my  dear,  your  good  mamma  needs  you.  Don't  let 
her  fatigue  herself.  The  working  of  the  mind  on  these  oc- 
casions is  exhausting.  I  recommend  a  little  care  for  your- 
self too,  and  a  glass  of  sal  volatile,  or  camphor  julep :  you 
are  wofully  pale." 

Helen  was  very  pale  when  Miss  Manners  addressed  her, 
but  Claude's  eye,  as  it  turned  upon  her,  brought  the  colour 
back  again  to  her  cheeks. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  my  dear,"  continued  Miss  Manners,  "  I 
shall  find  my  way  to  my  own  room.  I  can  send  my  maid  to 
inquire  if  there  is  any  difficulty,  and  I  sha'n't  trouble  about 
dress.     Early  dinners  don't  need  dress." 

Helen's  eye  involuntarily  turned  to  Claude.  Perhaps, 
looking  at  Miss  Manners'  black  cloth  jacket  and  crumpled 
frills,  she  thought  that  early  dinners  did  sometimes  need 
dress. 

"  Go,  in j  dear,  go,"  continued  Miss  Manners ;  and  as 
Helen  still  seemed  inclined  to  delay,  she  went  herself  to  the 
door,  and  opened  it.     "  I  don't  want  you  to  go,  Mr.  Egerton." 

Helen  murmured  to  herself,  "Odious  woman!"  but  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  obey  Miss  Manners  by  a  kind  of 
instinct,  and  she  went.  Claude,  being  less  habitually  obe- 
dient, took  no  notice  of  the  suggestion  of  the  lady's  wish  to 
cultivate  his  acquaintance,  but  followed  Helen  into  the  hall. 


1G2  ivoes. 

"  She  is  odious ! "  exclaimed  Helen,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  them ;  and  she  stood  still,  leaning  against  the  balus- 
trade of  the  staircase. 

"  She  is  absurd  !  "  said  Claude.  "  One  must  look  upon 
her  in  that  light." 

"  Yes,  if  one  can."  But  Helen  seemed  wanting  in 
strength  and  spirits  for  the  effort. 

"  You  are  tired,"  said  Claude,  anxiously,  "  and  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  there  is  nothing  the  matter."  Helen  tried  to 
pass  him,  to  go  up  stairs. 

He  placed  himself  in  her  way.  "  I  have  not  seen  you 
before,  this  morning,  Helen ;  at  least,  scarcely  with  the  op- 
portunity of  speaking  to  you." 

"  I  have  been  engaged,"  said  Helen,  pausing  evidently 
against  her  will. 

"And  you  would  not  let  me  help  you  in  anything"?" 
continued  Claude.     "  I  deserved  that  for  yesterday." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Helen.  "  We  had  no  quar- 
rel yesterday." 

Claude  looked  annoyed,  and  answered  shortly,  "  I 
thought  I  might  have  displeased  you  by  my  dulness.  I 
was  dull." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  "  you  were,  certainly ;  but  you  seem 
better  to-day." 

The  matter-of-fact  speech  threw  Claude  back ;  and,  in  a 
reproachful  tone,  he  said :  "I  know  that  I  have  no  right  to 
expect  sympathy  with  dulness  from  you,  whatever  may  be 
the  cause." 

"  I  must  go  to  mamma,"  was  Helen's  hasty  reply,  and 
passing  him  on  the  other  side,  she  ran  up  stairs. 

"  Deep  in  the  mysteries  of  thought,  Mr.  Egerton  ?  "  said 
Miss  Manners,  in  her  sharp  voice,  as  she  came  out  of  the 
library,  and  found  Claude  standing  in  the  hall,  with  folded 
arms  and  a  fixed  eye.  "  I  fancied  I  heard  Helen  talking 
with  vuu  still." 


ivors.  103 

"  Miss  Clare  is  gone  to  Lady  Augusta,"  replied  Claude. 

"  A  charming  creature,  full  of  sympathies  "which  need 
only  a  hand  to  touch  and  excite  them ! "  said  Miss  Manners, 
meaningly. 

"  Very  likely ;  I  am  afraid  I  am  in  your  way,"  and 
Claude  moved  aside,  and  Miss  Manners,  with  a  manly  and 
determined  tread,  ascended  the  broad  staircase. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


Happily  for  Claude,  the  employment  of  the  next  hour  pre- 
vented his  being  closely  observed  by  any  one  but  Lady  Au- 
gusta. The  early  dinner  was  little  more  than  a  rather  cere- 
monious luncheon ;  people  helped  themselves  and  their 
neighbours,  and  laughed  and  talked  without  any  solemn 
pauses ;  and  no  one  being  particularly  called  upon  to  be 
agreeable,  every  one  was  so,  Claude  and  Helen  excepted. 
Helen  was  at  the  further  end  of  the  table,  far  removed  from 
Claude,  who  was  seated  between  Mrs.  Grey  and  Susan,  nei- 
ther of  whom  required  much  conversation.  It  was  by  a  lit- 
tle manoeuvre  that  Helen  had  placed  herself  in  this  position. 
Claude  remarked  it,  but  no  one  else.  In  the  same  way,  when 
dinner  was  over,  she  managed  to  escape  him,  and  devote  her- 
self to  Mrs.  Grey;  very  kindly  and  thoughtfully,  it  might 
have  seemed,  since  Mrs.  Grey  was  an  old  lady  requiring  such 
respect,  but  the  motive  was  sufficiently  clear  to  Claude's  jeal- 
ous eye.  She  understood  and  avoided  him  ;  a  galling  thought 
it  was.  He  tried  to  turn  away  from  the  consciousness  of  the 
furl,  and  when  the  party  dispersed  after  dinner,  and  Lady 
Augusta  summoned  him,  as  one  of  her  particular  favourites, 
'  i  assist  in  preparing  the  magic  lanthorn  for  the  school-chil- 
dren, he  threw  himself  into  the  work  with  an  energy,  the 


1G4  ivors. 

only  motive  of  which  was  the  desire  of  distracting  his  mind. 
Even  then  he  did  not  know  the  extent  of  his  own  feelings  ; 
he  had  no  definite  wishes  nor  intentions.  It  was  the  fascina- 
tion of  a  spell  which  drew  him  forward.  But  he  no  longer 
thought  about  Helen,  he  only  felt.  His  eye  followed  her 
wherever  she  moved ;  he  heard  the  soft  tones  of  her  voice 
amidst  the  loudest  murmurs  of  conversation ;  he  knew  wdien 
she  was  in  the  room,  even  though  he  were  not  looking  at 
her ;  he  was*  conscious  of  her  return,  whatever  at  the  mo- 
ment might  be  engaging  his  attention.  He  was  miserable  in 
her  absence,  restless  in  her  presence  ;  and  yet  with  an  exte- 
rior so  cold,  hard,  almost  repulsive!  Even  kind-hearted 
Mrs.  Grey  whispered  to  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  as  she  watched 
him,  "Augusta  says  he  is  a  first-rate  man,  my  dear;  but, 
somehow,  I  think  first-rate  men  are  apt  to  be  disagreeable." 

And  in  this  state  of  mind,  Claude  found  himself  in  a 
distant  corner  of  the  servants'  hall,  by  the  side  of  Susan 
Graham,  whilst  the  school-children  were  seated  at  two  long 
tables, — piles  of  cake,  and  cups  of  tea  and  coffee  before 
them ;  and  Miss  Manners,  as  head  manager  and  waiter, 
rushing  from  one  to  the  other,  telling  one  to  be  grateful,  and 
another  not  to  eat  too  fast,  lamenting,  in  an  under-tone  to 
Lady  Augusta,  that  the  animal  nature  should  be  so  much 
more  rapidly  developed  than  the  spiritual ;  yet  very  good- 
naturedly,  at  the  same  time,  handing  the  cups  to  be  refilled 
and  the  empty  dishes  to  be  replenished.  Lady  Augusta  was 
to  be  seen  at  the  head  of  the  room,  looking  proudly  benevo- 
lent ;  Helen,  by  Mrs.  Grey's  arm-chair,  tired,  and  mentally 
worn.  Claude's  eye  had  been  resting  on  her  for  some  time ; 
he  was  not  conscious  of  Susan's  presence,  till  he  heard  her 
say,  "What  a  pleasant  face  Mrs.  Grey  has,  for  an  old 
lady ! " 

"Yes;"  and  Claude  just  looked  round,  but  said  no 
more. 


woks.  165 

"  It  is  like  Lady  Augusta's,  and  yet  not  like,"  continued 
Susan ;  "  like,  with  a  different  expression,  and  there  is  so 
muck  in  that.     Helen  says " 

Claude's  face  was  directed  towards  her  in  an  instant. 
Susan  continued : 

"  Helen  says  that  it  is  merely  kindness  which  makes  it 
so  pleasant ;  but  to  me  there  is  something  higher  in  it  than 
mere  benevolence." 

Mrs.  Grey,  just  at  that  moment,  rose  to  leave  the  room. 
Leaning  on  -Helen's  arm,  she  drew  near  the  spot  where 
Claude  and  Susan  were.  She  stopped,  and  spoke  tc  Helen. 
"This  is  your  cousin,  Miss  Graham,  my  love,  isn't  it?  I 
must  make  acquaintance  with  her."  She  gave  her  hand  to 
Susan.  "  We  have  a  very  pleasant  sight  here,  my  dear  ;  so 
many  happy  little  faces,  and  all  owing  to  you,  Mr.  Egerton. 
We  must  be  grateful  to  you,  as  well  as  to  dear  Lady  Au- 
gusta. I  wanted  to  congratulate  you  before  on  your  success, 
but  you  have  been  too  busy  to  give  me  the  opportunity." 

Claude  bowed,  and  was  very  much  obliged,  and  offered 
his  arm  to  Mrs.  Grey. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  have  a  good  support,  you  see ; "  and 
a  kindly  smile  passed  over  the  old  lady's  face.  "  I  have 
been  very  selfish,  my  dear,"  she  added,  addressing  Susan, 
"in  taking  Helen  away,  but  I  will  send  her  back  to  you 
again  directly. 

Helen's  face  showed  some  annoyance,  and  she  said  deci- 
dedly, "  I  am  not  going  to  return,"  and  Claude, — his  face 
of  an  ashy  paleness, — moved  aside  whilst  Mrs.  Grey  and 
Helen  passed  on. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  did  you  speak?"  asked  Claude,  ad- 
dressing Susan  suddenly. 

Susan  had  not  spoken ;  she  was  looking  grave  and 
anxious,  but  she  tried  to  make  some  common  remark  about 
the  children,  and  how  they  appeared  to  enjoy  themselves. 


160  IVORS. 

"  Yes  ;  they  are  of  an  age  when  enjoyment  is  possible." 
Claude's  accent  was  bitter. 

"  I  hope  there  is  no  age  when  it  is  quite  impossible," 
said  Susan. 

"  Tbe  world  must  be  taken  lightly,  then,"  he  answered. 

"  Or  reasonably,  I  suppose,"  said  Susan. 

"  As  I  imagine  it  is  by  you,"  he  replied,  with  a  faint 
attempt  at  a  smile.  "  I  can  fancy  Mrs.  Graham's  teaching 
to  have  been  quite  upon  that  principle." 

"Mamma  has  no  particular  principle,  that  I  know  of,' 
replied  Susan,  quietly,  "  but  that  of  acting  always  upon  the 
highest." 

He  seemed  struck  by  her  tone,  and  answered,  with  great 
interest,  "  Mrs.  Graham  is  right.  There  is  nothing  but  that, 
both  for  reason  and  consistency.  She  is  fortunate  in  having 
been  able  to  carry  it  out." 

"  In  herself,"  said  Susan.  "  It  is  a  case  in  which  it  is 
easier  to  practise  oneself,  than  to  teach  others." 

"Yet  I  would  willingly  have  been  her  pupil,"  said 
Claude,  earnestly ;  "  she  would  have  taught  me  much — if 
not  all  that  she  knows  herself." 

"  Experience  teaches,  I  suppose,"  said  Susan,  "  and  " — 
she  hesitated — "  disappointment." 

He  repeated  the  word,  disappointment,  to  himself,  and 
added,  "  It  ought  to  teach,  but  it  never  does  till  hope  is 
dead." 

"  Disappointment  does  not  come  until  that  happens,  does 
it  ?  "  said  Susan. 

"  No,"  and  his  voice  sank  ;  "  it  is  only  suspense  till  then, 
heart-sickening,  wearying.  The  plunge  of  the  dagger  must 
be  a  far  less  evil  than  the  sight  of  it  drawn  over  one's  head." 

"  Yet  one  would  not  accept  the  plunge,"  said  Susan. 

"Would  you  not?     I  would,"  was  the  stern  reply. 

Susan  was  silent  for  an  instant ;  then  she  said  timidly, 


ivoks.  167 

"I  suppose  that  is  the  difference  between  man  and 
woman's  nature." 

"I  don't  understand  woman's  nature,"  he  replied,  shortly. 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  understand  a  man's,"  replied  Susan ; 
"  one  can  but  speak  from  one's  own  feelings.    It  seems  easier 
to  live  on  with  hope,  however  faint,  than  to  bear  the  crush' 
of  disappointment." 

"  I  would  not  bear  it  only,"  he  replied,  "  I  would  rise 
above  it ;  I  would  cast  it  from  me.  Let  me  but  know  the 
worst, — know  it  soon, — soon,"  he  repeated,  in  a  lower  voice. 

"  And  then  you  would  forget !  "  said  Susan. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  turned  from  her  abruptly. 

Susan  watched  him  for  a  few  seconds,  and  soon  after- 
wards, unperceived  by  any  one,  glided  out  of  the  room  in 
search  of  Helen. 

She  found  her  in  her  bedroom,  lying  on  a  little  sofa 
drawn  near  the  fire,  looking  pale,  and  complaining  of  head- 
ache. Her  manner  was  not  encouraging  to  conversation ; 
Susan  made  several  attempts  at  it,  but  failed,  and  was  at 
length  obliged  to  leave  her,  with  the  promise  of  making  an 
excuse  to  Lady  Augusta  for  her  absence. 

Helen  did  not  appear  again.  Claude  exhibited  the  magic 
lanthorn  to  the  school  children,  and  exerted  himself  for  the 
general  entertainment.  Mrs.  Grey  changed  her  opinion  be- 
fore the  evening  was  over,  and  thought  that  Mr.  Egerton 
was  a  very  superior  person,  oiily  a  little  stiff  just  at  first ; 
and  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  after  a  discussion  upon  Shake- 
speare's female  characters,  pronounced  him  a  most  agreeable 
man.  Only  Susan  understood  him.  And  it  seemed  that  he 
was  aware  of  it,  for  every  now  and  then,  in  the  intervals  of 

linn,  he  came  up  to  her  to   inquire  for  Helen,  and  Hu- 
ll  to  say  a  few  words,  which,  though  they  only  referred 
to  common   topics,  implied   a   consciousness   thai    she  would 

read  the  thoughts  which  suggested  (hem.     Susan  longed  to 
8 


168  iyors. 

tell  him  more  plainly  that  she  could  feel  for  him,  to  give 
him  hope  and  comfort ;  hut  Claude  Egerton  could  only  he 
approached  when  he  had  himself  made  the  first  advances. 
And  for  hope, — Susan  was  too  perplexed  to  offer  it,  even  if 
the  opportunity  had  heen  afforded  her.  Helen  was  more 
*than  ever  a  prohlem. 

Helen  was  just  preparing  to  go  to  hed ;  it  was  nearly 
eleven  o'clock.  She  had  listened  to  the  parting  "good 
nights  "  on  the  staircase,  and  the  loud  closing  of  doors  along 
the  gallery,  and  her  hand  was  on  the  hell  to  ring  for  her 
maid,  when  a  gentle  tap  was  heard  at  the  door.  Lady  Au- 
gusta entered.     Helen's  face  expressed  annoyance. 

"  I  am  disturhing  you,  my  love,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
"  hut  I  could  not  rest  without  coming  to  see  you.  "What  is 
the  matter  *?     What  is  the  cause  of  this  headache." 

"  Noise  and  hustle,  I  suppose,  mamma,"  said  Helen, 
shortly.  "  Such  numhers  of  people  ahout  are  enough  to  give 
any  one  a  headache." 

"  Any  one  who  is  not  strong,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 

"  I  am  strong,"  replied  Helen ;  "  there  is  nothing  the 
matter,  really." 

"  Xay,  then,  my  love ;  if  it  he  so,  I  have  cause  for  com- 
plaint. You  have  used  very  little  exertion  to-day  for  any 
person's  entertainment." 

"  Numhers  entertain  each  other,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  differ  from  you,  my  dear.  There  must  be  leaders  in 
amusement  as  well  as  in  business.  But  for  Claude  Egerton 
and  Miss  Manners,  I  really  don't  know  what  we  should  have 
done.  And  it  was  hard  upon  Claude,  too,  poor  fellow !  But 
he  is  so  unselfish." 

';  Mamma,"  said  Helen,  suddenly,  and  sitting  upright  she 
fixed  her  eyes  steadily  on  Lady  Augusta's  face,  "  you  talk 
of  Claude  as  if  you  knew  his  feelings.  Do  you  know 
them  ?  " 


ivoks.  1G9 

Lady  Augusta  hesitated.  "  My  love,  as  I  said  to  you 
this  morning',  that  is  a  question  you  ought  not  to  ask.  I 
only  heg  of  you  not  to  treat  him  with  that  marked  disre- 
gard, which  even  to  an  utter  stranger  would  be  painful,  and 
which  must  excite — which  has  indeed  excited — observation. 
My  aunt  remarked  your  manner,  so  did  your  father,  and 
Lady  Louisa." 

"  My  manner  may  be  right  notwithstanding,"  said  Helen. 

"  Kudeness  can  never  be  right,"  observed  Lady  Augusta. 

"  But  trHth  must  be,"  said  Helen. 

"  Lady .  Augusta  answered  angrily,  "  You  mistake, 
Helen.  You  can  know  nothing  of  your  own  mind :  young 
girls  never  do,  until  they  are  certain  of  the  feeling  they  have 
inspired.  Claude  and  you  are  very  excellent  friends,  and 
have  been  so  from  childhood." 

"Yes,  excellent  friends,"  said  Helen,  with  marked  em- 
phasis. 

"  Then  remain  so,  my  love." 

"  It  is  all  I  wish,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  all  he  wishes  for  the  present,"  said  Lady  Au- 
gusta. "  Claude  is  the  last  person  to  force  his  deeper  feel- 
ings upon  any  one,  even  if  he  have  them ;  a  point  which  I 
don't  pretend  to  decide." 

"  Mamma  !  mamma  !  "  and  Helen  leaned  her  head  upon 
her  hands,  and  her  tone  was  agitated :  "  you  worry  me. 
You  don't  intend  it ;  but  if  you  would  only  let  me  go  my 
own  way." 

"  And  make  yourself  and  Claude  miserable,"  said  Lady 
Augusta. 

"  If  it  be  as  you  say,  he  must  be  miserable,  at  least  for  a 
time,"  said  Helen. 

"  My  love,  you  are  talking  of  what  you  don't  understand. 
Leave  things  to  take  their  natural  course,  and  all  will  go 
light ;  but  don't  pretend  dislike." 


170  IVORS. 

"  I  wish  only  to  show  indifference,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  why,  my  love  ?  If  Claude  cares  for  you,  he  will 
tell  you  so  in  spite  of  your  indifference ;  if  he  does  not,  it  is 
unnecessary    to    make    such    a   show   of    it.     I   could  have 

wished "     Lady  Augusta  sighed  ;  "  hut  it  is  not  well  to 

indulge  hope.     Your  dear  father  too  !  " 

"  Papa  is  too  good  and  kind  ever  to  desire  anything  hut 
my  happiness,"  said  Helen. 

"  True,  my  love,  most  true !  "  Lady  Augusta  spoke 
eagerly ;  "  hut  you  must  allow  us  hoth  to  form  our  opinion  of 
that  which  is  the  most  likely  to  promote  it.  Claude  Egerton 
has  no  rival  in  your  father's  estimation.  He  is  in  every  way 
superior :  his  talents, — his  fortune, — his  position  " 

"  Mamma !  please  " — Helen  seized  Lady  Augusta's  hand  ; 
"  I  can't  hear  to  hear  it  talked  of  so.  He  has  never  said 
anything  to  me ;  he  does  not  care  for  me." 

"  Possibly  not,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  coldly. 

"  He  is  not  in  a  mood  to  care  for  any  one  now,"  added 
Helen  ;  "  his  heart  is  in  his  politics." 

"  It  may  be ;  or  it  may  be  open  to  other  attractions ; 
your  cousin  Susan,  for  instance.  She  would  make  him  an 
excellent  wife." 

A  momentary  cloud  passed  over  Helen's  face.  She  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  Susan  is  worthy  of  him ;  I  am  not." 

"  He  woidd  improve  any  woman,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 
"With  his  high  tone,  his  conscientiousness,  his  talents,  he 
would  elevate  her  mind,  support  her,  give  her  interest  in 
life." 

Helen  was  silent. 

"  And  Susan  might  suit  him  in  some  respects,"  continued 
Lady  Augusta.  "She  would  be  very  domestic,  she  would 
attend  to  his  household,  and  listen  to  him,  and  be  very  obe- 
dient.    For  higher  things — the  poetry  of  life,  perhaps 

but  he  would  learn  to  do  without  these." 


IVOKS.  171 

"He  would  not  be  happy  -without  them,"  said  Helen, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Then  he  would  accustom  himself  to  live  in  unhappi- 
ness,"  replied  Lady  Augusta,  bitterly;  "other  men  have 
done  so  before  him,  when  those  who  might  have  been  all  to 
them  have  refused  to  be  so." 

"  I  could  not  bear  that  for  him,"  said  Helen,  and  her 
voice  trembled. 

"It  is  the  lot  of  many  men,"  replied  Lady  Adgusta. 

Helen  shuddered.  "  I  won't  think  of  it,"  she  exclaimed ; 
"  it  is  unwomanly :  he  has  never  said  anything." 

"  Exactly  what  I  desire,  my  love :  that  you  should  not 
think  of  it, — that  you  should  let  everything  take  its  course. 
If  disappointment  must  come,  it  will  be  soon  enough  both  for 
him  and  for  ourselves."  Lady  Augusta's  tone  was  really 
sad.     Helen  was  touched  by  it. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  "  I  know,  I  believe  you  only  wish 
for  my  happiness." 

"  I  wish  only  that  you  should  not  throw  away  happi- 
ness," replied  Lady  Augusta,  with  dignity.  "But,  as  you 
say,  we  will  think  no  more  of  it.  To-morrow  I  shall  expect 
to  see  you  acting  your  natural  self  again.  Any  other  con- 
duct will  but  expose  you  to  observation,  and  may,  indeed, 
excite  the  very  suspicions  which,  it  seems,  you  most  dread." 

Lady  Augusta  left  the  room,  and,  as  the  door  closed, 
Helen  leaned  back  again  on  the  sofa,  and  gave  way  to  a 
burst  of  excited  and  irritated  feelings. 

Susan,  Claude  Egerton's  wife !  The  probability  had 
never  crossed  her  mind  before.  It  came  now  with  a  sharp, 
sharp  pang  of  jealousy.  She  did  not  care  for  him  herself,  at 
least  she  thought  so.  The  suspicion  of  his  love  was  burden- 
some. She  fancied  that  if  it  were  offered,  she  would  refuse 
it,  but  she  could  not  give  it  to  another.  Oh,  so  mean  that 
Was!  so  lowering!     Helen's  generous  nature  revolted  from 


172  iyors. 

such  a  consciousness.  She  tried  to  think  of  the  matter 
coldly  and  reasonably,  and  again  she  repeated  to  herself 
what  she  had  so  often  before  said,  that  Lady  Augusta  might 
be  deceived,  and  Claude's  feeling  for  herself  be  only  imagi- 
nary. But  it  would  not  do.  His  words  and  manner,  inter- 
preted by  Lady  Augusta's  hints,  had  betrayed  him.  She 
felt  that  if  his  love  were  given  to  Susan,  it  would  only  be 
because  she  had  rejected  it.  How  earnestly  she  wished 
that  the  idea  had  never  been  suggested  to  her  !  They  were 
so  easy,  and  happy,  and  unrestrained  until  then.  She  had 
begun  to  look  upon  him  as  a  friend  who  might  really  be  of 
service  to  her :  she  would  have  gone  to  him  in  any  difficulty, 
and  rested  upon  his  advice.  And  why  might  she  not  do  so 
still?  If  Susan  were  his  wife,  it  might  be.  There  came 
the  jealous  pang.  Helen  could  not  bear  it ;  and  at  last  she 
ventured  to  dwell  upon  the  possibility  for  herself.  Good,  no- 
ble, true,  generous,  clever  as  Claude  was,  might  it  not  be 
casting  away  her  happiness  ?  And  then  her  father's  wishes, 
Lady  Augusta's  disappointments, — those  were  points  to  be 
considered.  Truth, — the  innate,  inborn  truth  of  her  charac- 
ter, whispered  that  something  beyond  this  mere  acquiescence 
would  be  wanting  both  for  Claude  and  for  herself:  and  the 
old  harassing  doubt  returned,  and  Helen's  temples  throbbed 
with  pain,  as  she  strove  to  stem  the  current  of  her  thoughts, 
one  moment  longing  to  stifle  them,  and  the  next  to  pour  them 
forth  into  any  ear  which  would  listen  with  sympathy  ;  until  at 
length,  .utterly  worn  out  with  contending  feelings,  she  threw 
herself  upon  her  bed,  after  a  short  and  formal  prayer,  un- 
thinking of  the  Heavenly  Love  ready  to  soothe  and  comfort 
her,  if  she  had  but  turned  to  seek  it. 


ivoes.  173 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  mirth  of  childhood  could  scarcely  have  been  more 
mirthful  in  appearance  than  that  of  the  breakfast  party  at 
Ivors.  Helen  was  there,  brilliant  and  beautiful,  bearing  no 
trace  of  headache  or  thought ;  and  Claude  was  there  also, 
self-controlled,  agreeable,  considerate ;  and  Susan  sat  oppo- 
site to  them,  quiet  and  reflecting ;  and  Lady  Augusta  was 
particularly  gracious,  under  the  influence  of  Lady  Louisa 
Stuart's  talkativeness,  which  took  the  burden  of  general  en- 
tertainment from  her,  and  enabled  her  to  devote  herself  to 
science  and  Miss  Manners ;  whilst  Maurice,  and  Mr.  Pear- 
son, Sir  Henry,  and  Mrs.  Grey,  all  bore  their  parts  in  keep- 
ing up  the  flow  of  conversation.  It  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  any  stranger  entering  the  room  to  guess  the  spirit 
in  which  each  then  present  had  entered  upon  the  day,  still 
less  to  form  any  opinion  upon  the  under-currents  of  thought 
passing  through  the  various  minds.  Claude  Egerton  was  too 
fastidious  to  endure  for  an  instant  the  knowledge  that  his 
secret  feelings  were  scrutinised  by  the  general  eye,  although 
there  had  been  something  soothing  to  him  in  the  half-per- 
ception of  Susan's  sympathy,  neither  could  he  bring  himself 
to  trust  them  to  the  light  without  a  certainty  of  their  being 
welcomed  and  cherished.  He  had  suffered  himself  to  put 
forth  feelers,  as  it  were,  which  might  assist  him  in  discover- 
ing the  nature  of  Helen's  regard  for  him ;  and  the  first 
symptoms  of  repulse  had  sent  him  back  into  himself  in 
moody  wretchedness.  But  that  was  not  a  state  of  mind 
which  could  long  continue.  Manly,  self-disciplined,  and 
energetic,  the  experience  of  one  day's  weakness  was  suili- 
cient  to  brace  his  resolution.  An  hour  had  been  spent  that 
morning  in  preparing  himself  for  the  conflict,  and  Claude 
appeared  at  the  breakfast  table,  aide  to  talk  politically  with 


174  IVORS. 

Sir  Henry,  scientifically  with  Miss  Manners, — to  discuss 
London  notorieties  with  Lady  Louisa,  and  criticise  Oxford 
dons  with  Mr.  Pearson, — above  all,  able  to  enter  into  the 
plans  for  the  evening's  amusement  with  Helen,  and  discourse 
o-enerally  with  the  company  at  large  upon  the  comparative 
merits  of  charades  and  tableaux  vivants. 

It  was  a  conquest  over  self,  but  not  greater  in  compari- 
son than  Helen's.  Claude  had  disciplined  himself  from 
childhood ;  Helen  had  no  idea  of  anything  but  external  re- 
straint. Yet  she  too  could,  in  compliance  with  Lady  Au- 
gusta's suggestions,  and  the  dictates  of  her  own  pride,  throw 
off  the  uncomfortable  chilling  manner  which  had  on  the  pre- 
vious day  excited  such  general  remark,  and  meet  Claude 
with  an  open,  cheerful  face,  in  no  way  encouraging  to  his 
hopes,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  not  distressing  to  him  from  its 
uncourteousness. 

Helen  did  for  pride  what  she  would  have  thought  it  hard 
to  be  called  upon  to  do  for  duty.  Perhaps  Claude  did  the 
same.  At  any  rate,  both  were  self-confident,  determined, 
the  one  to  hide  his  weakness,  the  other  to  act  as  if  she  did 
not  per^sive  it. 

They  adjourned  to  Helen's  morning-room  by  common 
consent — Claude,  Helen,  Susan,  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  Mau- 
rice, and  Mr.  Pearson.  Lady  Augusta  begged  to  be  admit- 
ted to  the  conference,  but  was  informed  that  she  must  sub- 
mit to  be  one  of  the  ignorant  and  admiring  audience ;  and 
too  pleased  to  see  Claude  and  Helen  engaged  in  any  way 
which  would  be  likely  to  cause  a  mutual  interest,  she  de- 
parted to  spend  the  morning  Avith  Miss  Manners. 

"  Charades  or  tableaux  ?  which  is  it  to  be  ?  "  exclaimed 
Maurice,  leaning  back  on  Helen's  sofa,  and  feeling  prospec- 
tively tired  at  the  unusual  efforts  he  was  to  make. 

"  Charades,"  said  Lady  Louisa ;  "  they  give  so  much 
more  scope  for  intellect." 


ivors.  175 

"  Of  a  very  dull  kind,  generally,"  muttered  Maurice. 

"  Not  common  charades,"  continued  Lady  Louisa,  "  but 
scenic,  effective  ones.  Hundreds  can  be  made  from  Shake- 
speare." 

"  We  must  learn  our  speeches,  then,"  said  Mr.  Pearson, 
whose  voice  betrayed  decided  alarm. 

"  "What  does  it  signify  ?  "  exclaimed  Lady  Louisa.  "  It 
can  never  be  said  of  an  Oxford  man,  that  he  is  one  of  those 

"  -  Hard-handed  men  that  work  in  Athens  here, 
Which  never  laboured  in  their  minds  till  now, 
And  now  have  toiled  their  unbreathed  memories 
"With  this  same  play.'  " 

Maurice  laughed.  "  You  are  in  for  it,  my  good  fellow, — 
Hamlet, — Richard  the  Third, — Mark  Antony:  count  your 
lines,  and  take  the  shortest  that  you  may." 

"  No  matter  for  our  blunders,"  continued  Lady  Louisa : 
"  we  will  have  a  Chorus,  who  shall  entreat  our  friends  that 

they 

"  '  Still  be  kind, 
And  eke  out  our  performance  with  their  mind.' " 

"  I  beg  to  be  Chorus,"  exclaimed  Claude.  "  I  feel  my- 
self equal  to  nothing  but  making  apologies." 

"  Which  you  are  not  much  in  the  habit  of  doing,  if  I 
may  venture  upon  the  remark,"  said  Helen,  in  a  tone  of 
ease,  observed  by  Susan  only  to  be  an  effort. 

Claude  turned  round  quickly.  "Apologies  are  useless 
when  the  fault  has  not  been  observed.  The  last  I  made  to 
you,  if  I  remember  rightly,  were  certainly  thrown  away ; 
but  it  is  not  likely  to  be  so  in  the  present  instance.  I  have 
no  talent  for  acting  of  any  kind,  much  less  for  Shake- 
speare." 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Egerton  !  Mr.  Egerton  !  you  deceive  yourself," 
exclaimed   Lady  Louisa.     "The  feeling  for  Shakespeare  is 


1 76  ivoks. 

innate  ;  it  is  part  of  the  English  character  ;  the  very  words 
are  inspiration,  and  put  a  new  soul  into  all  men  not  utterly 
of  the  common  herd." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Claude  ;  "  but  acting  is  a  good  deal 
a  question  of  bodies  also  ;  and  my  body  is  stubborn  ;  it  does 
not  understand  obeying  any  but  that  poor  old  soul  to  which 
it  has  been  accustomed  from  its  infancy." 

"  The  prompter's  soul  is  the  only  one  for  me,"  said  Mr. 
Pearson. 

Lady  Louisa  looked  annoyed.  "  If  you  will  talk  so  ab- 
surdly," she  said,  "  there  is  nothing  to  be  done." 

"  We  must  needs  convince  your  Ladyship  out  of  your 
own  oracle,"  said  Claude. 

"  •  A  play  there  is,  my  Lord,  some  ten  words  long ; 
Which  is  as  brief  as  I  have  known  a  play ; 
But  by  ten  words,  my  Lord,  it  is  too  long ; 
Which  makes  it  tedious  :  for  in  all  the  play 
There  is  not  one  word  apt,  one  player  fitted.'' 

"  Unapt  words  I  own  we  cannot  plead,  but  unfitting 
players  we  certainly  may." 

Lady  Lousia,  though  soothed  by  hearing  Shakspeare 
quoted,  nevertheless  appeared  but  little  inclined  to  yield  the 
point. 

Helen  tried  the  via  media.  "  Tableaux  from  Shakspeare 
would  be  charming,"  she  said  ;  "  Hermione,  for  instance." 

"  But  who  is  to  be  Hermione  % "  asked  Lady  Louisa, 
quickly. 

"Jane  Aubrey  will  do  perfectly,"  said  Helen  ;  "  she  will 
be  here  soon :  she  is  like  a  wax  figure  in  complexion  ;  and  I 
can  answer  for  her  being  still." 

"  Very  great  praise ! "  said  Lady  Louisa,  satirically. 
Considerable  genius  is  doubtless  required  to  hold  your  tongue 
and  stand  still." 


iyoes.  177 

Helen's  pouting  lip  betrayed  rising  temper,  and  Susan 
ventured  to  interpose. 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  question  of  exhibiting  genius,  is  it," 
she  asked,  "  so  much  as  of  giving  pleasure  ?  and  perhaps  it 
may  be  better  to  attempt  little  and  succeed,  than  to  attempt 
a  great  deal  and  fail." 

"  No  great  works  would  ever  have  been  begun  with  that 
principle,"  said  Lady  Louisa. 

"But  many  useful  works  would  have  failed  if  it  had 
been  disregarded,"  said  Claude. 

He  spoke  eagerly,  and  Helen's  eyes  were  raised  to  his  as 
if  she  would  fain  have  asked  a  question.  He  noticed  it,  and 
drawing  near  her,  said,  "You  understand,  I  hope.  Great 
attempts  for  great  objects.     This  is  not  a  great  object." 

"No,"  said  Helen,  shortly;  "but  I  like  a  high  aim  in 
evervthin<?." 

He  looked  pained  by  her  manner,  and  Helen  perceived 
it.  Carrying  out  her  morning  resolution,  she  added,  kindly, 
"  We  can  discuss  that  at  our  leisure,  though ;  there  is  no 
time  now." 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  I  should  like  it,"  and  Claude's  face 
brightened,  but  he  withdrew  himself  from  the  discussion,  and 
took  up  a  book. 

Helen  approached  Susan.  "  This  will  never  do,"  she 
said,  in  an  under  tone ;  "  we  shall  spend  the  whole  morning 
in  useless  talk.  Shakspeare  won't  answer,  it  can't :  we 
should  all  break  down  and  be  absurd.  I  will  manage  it." 
She  turned  and  spoke  aloud.  "  Jane  Aubrey,  upon  considera- 
tion, is  rather  short  for  Hermione  ;  I  suppose  we  could  scarcely 
ask  Lady  Louisa  to  take  the  part, — to  be  a  mere  statue." 

"  An  old  wizen  face !  "  muttered  Maurice  to  Claude,  as 
they  stood  apart ;  "  Helen  is  mad." 

"  It  is  but  a  woman  understanding  a  woman,"  said  Claude. 
He  drew  nearer  to  the  little  circle  round  the  fire. 


ITS  IVORS. 

Lady  Louisa  was  haughty,  doubtful,  yet  relenting.  She 
owned  that  she  had  tried  the  part  of  Herrnione  before  ;  hut 
then  the  whole  play  had  been  acted,  and  on  a  special  occa- 
sion— an  amateur  performance  for  the  support  of  a  charita- 
ble society.  She  had  been  very  much  entreated,  and  had 
been  obliged  to  yield  against  her  will.  This,  of  course, 
would  be  very  different ;  a  stone,  a  painted  marble  figure 
would  do  as  well. 

"  Not  quite  for  the  story,"  said  Susan,  "  which  requires 
life,  as  we  shall  have  more  than  one  scene." 

"  Dead  life !  "  said  Maurice  aside  to  Mr.  Pearson  ;  "  I 
suppose  that  is  why  they  choose  her.  It's  a  monstrous  nui- 
sance when  elderly  ladies  forget  the  date  of  their  baptismal 
register.  Propose  her  for  Lady  Macbeth,  and  I  will  say 
something  to  you." 

But  this  was  not  now  possible.  Lady  Louisa's  imagina- 
tion had  seized  upon  the  idea  of  Herrnione  ;  and  Helen,  only 
too  glad  to  sacrifice  one  point,  that  she  might  gain  others, 
was  proceeding  to  discuss  dress,  attitude,  arrangement  of 
light,  «fec. 

Claude  went  up  to  Susan.  "  Could  we  not  form  a  little 
programme  by  ourselves "? "  he  said.  "If  we  have  tableaux, 
there  should  be  several,  and  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Her- 
mione's  dress  will  not  be  decided  for  the  next  hour." 

Susan  looked  at  Mr.  Pearson  and  Maurice. 

"  We  shall  do  better  by  ourselves,"  said  Claude.  "  Could 
you  not  come  with  me  for  a  few  minutes  into  the  ante- 
room %  "  Susan  hesitated,  but  moved  a  little  away  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  apartment.  "  I  have  several  in  my  remem- 
brance," continued  Claude :  "  some  from  Walter  Scott,  and 
from  pictures ;  one  especially,  the  presentation  of  the  crown 
to  Lady  Jane  Grey.     Did  you  ever  see  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  never  seen  a  tableau  of  any  kind.  I  have 
never  been  at  a  play,  I  know  nothing  about  it." 


ivoes.  179 

"  Then  you  will  enjoy  it  thoroughly,  if  you  ever  do  see 
it,"  said  Claude. 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  perfect.  I  dread  acting,  it  must  he  im- 
perfect." 

"  Not  with  some  people,"  said  Claude,  and  his  eye  in- 
stinctively wandered  to  Helen.  "Where  there  is  that  quick, 
passionate,  impulsive  temperament,  it  ceases  to  be  acting, 
and  becomes  reality." 

"  Then  it  would  be  so  with  Helen,"  observed  Susan,  and 
following  Claude's  glance,  she  also  turned  to  look  with  ad- 
miration upon  the  graceful  attitude,  and  the  animated  face 
with  which  her  cousin  was  carrying  on  her  conversation  with 
Lady  Louisa.     "  I  should  like  to  see  her  act,"  she  added. 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Claude,  eagerly ;  "  you  would  not 
bear  it.  I  could  not:  it  would  be  agony  to  me."  He 
checked  himself  in  an  instant,  as  Susan's  gentle,  yet  keen 
gaze  met  his  ;  and  coldly  came  the  concluding  words  of  the 
sentence,  "  It  would  be  too  real,  and  an  exhibition  of  that 
kind  is  not  fitted  for  a  lady." 

"  A  tableau  is  an  exhibition  also,"  said  Susan. 

"  Yes,  but  }f  a  different  kind.  It  requires  self-control. 
There  is  not  the  excitement  of  acting.  You  will  see  at 
once  that  it  is  different.  Not  but  that  it  requires  care  too ; 
all  these  things  do.    Will  you  take  part  in  Lady  .Jane  Grey  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not.  I  will  help  by  making  myself 
useful ;  but  I  don't  tl  ink  I  should  like  to  take  any  promi- 
nent part." 

"  Then  we  must  have  Lady  Louisa,"  said  Claude,  in  a 
tune  of  disappointment. 

"  Or  Miss  Aubrey.  She  will  be  here,  Helen  says,  in 
time." 

"  Yes,  but  she  would  not  do ;  at  least,  I  would  rather 
have  you  for  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk.  Miss  Aubrey  is  so 
showy." 


180  IVOKS. 

"She  understands  it,  I  don't,"  said  Susan.  "Helen 
would  make  a  charming  Jane  Grey." 

"  Yes,"  and  Claude  sighed. 

"  She  has  the  expression  which  is  required,"  said  Susan. 
"  I  have  seen  her  often  stand  as  I  can  imagine  Lady  Jane  to 
have  stood,  debating  between  what  seemed  positive  good  and 
doubtful  evil." 

"  There  lay  the  secret  of  the  temptation,  I  suppose,"  said 
Claude,  thoughtfully ;  "  Poor  Lady  Jane  !  it  was  a  fearful 
punishment." 

"  Yes,  for  an  error  only,  not  for  a  sin,"  observed  Susan. 

"Fearful  because  we  see  and  realize  it,"  continued 
Claude.  "  Yet  I  often  think  how  terrible  a  history  would 
be  revealed  if  we  could  learn  the  secrets  of  the  punishments 
we  don't  see.  But," — and  he  started, — "this  moralising 
won't  help  us.  I  don't  know  why  I  always  do  moralise  with 
you,  Miss  Graham." 

"  It  is  my  fault,"  said  Susan,  simply.  "  I  get  into  a 
grave  way  of  looking  at  things,  and  then  it  comes  out  natu- 
rally. But  I  don't  like  it  in  other  people.  Helen's  spirits 
always  delight  me." 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  in  feeling  the  tone  of  mind  of 
the  person  you  are  conversing  with,"  said  Claude ;  "  one 
puts  out  a  sober  thought  so  cautiously  with  some  people." 

"  And  it  is  withdrawn  so  soon  when  it  is  not  welcomed," 
said  Susan. 

Claude  smi\ed.  "  I  should  have  thought  you  meant  that 
satirically,"  he  said,  "  if  it  were  in  your  nature  to  be  satiri- 
cal. That  habit  of  withdrawing  my  thoughts  is  one  which 
I  am  often  accused  of.  It  is  instinct  only ;  I  do  it  before  I 
am  aware  :  but,  oh !  the  rest  of  finding  that  one  can  venture 
to  say  everything  freely." 

"  Yes,"  said  Susan ;  "  that  one  can  trust  to  be  under- 
stood." 


IVORS.  181 

Claude  looked  at  her  earnestly,  and  replied  in  a  grave, 
rather  low  tone,  "  Is  it  presumption  to  say,  that  I  fancy  I 
should  never  be  afraid  of  speaking  freely  to  you  ?  " 

A  sudden  but  faint  tinge  spread" itself  over  Susan's  face, 
succeeded  by  paleness  ;  yet  the  transient  sign  of  emotion  was 
gone,  as  she  followed  the  direction  of  Claude's  eye,  and  saw 
it  rest  upon  Helen.  She  made  no  direct  reply,  but  merely 
said,  "  I  will  break  up  the  council ;  we  have  no  time  to 
lose ; "  and  going  at  once  to  Helen,  she  begged  her,  if  the 
arrangements  for  Plermione  were  settled,  to  join  Mr.  Egerton 
and  herself  in  sketching  out  another  tableau. 

"  Alas,  poor  Helena !  "  whispered  Lady  Louisa  to  Maurice, 
as  Susan,  followed  by  Helen,  went  back  to  the  spot  where 
Claude  was  standing. 

"  '  For  ere  Demetrius  looked  on  Hermia's  eyne, 
He  hailed  down  oaths  that  he  was  only  mine.' " 

Maurice  stared,  not  comprehending ;  and  thinking  that 
he  had  been  asked  where  the  quotation  was  to  be  found,  re- 
peated it  aloud. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Louisa,  forgetting  that 
11  hush  !  "  is  the  most  audible  sound  in  the  English  language. 
It  was  too  late  to  say  "hush!"  for  one  person.  Lady 
Louisa  saw  the  expression  of  Helen's  face,  and  knew  that 
she,  at  least,  had  both  heard  and  understood. 

It  was  a  very  busy  afternoon.  Mrs.  Graham  arrived, 
with  Isabella  and  Anna,  Lord  Steyne  and  Miss  Aubrey,  Sir 
John  and  Lady  Hume,  and  their  daughters,  and  a  party  of 
friends  with  them.  But  the  mysteries  of  the  Green  Koom 
went  on  without  interruption.  Lady  Augusta  only  inter- 
fered to  insist  that  no  stranger,  except  Miss  Aubrey,  should 
be  admitted  to  them.  Maurice,  Claude,  and  Mr.  Pearson 
must,  she  said,  divide  the  gentlemen's  characters  amongst 
them.      Susan   still    declined   taking    any  prominent    part, 


182  IVOKS. 

though  she  consented,  if  necessary,  to  make  one  of  a  group 
in  the  background.  Her  head  and  hands  were,  however, 
ready  for  every  one's  need.  Lady  Louisa  would  fain  have 
engrossed  her  entirely,  finding  the  difficulties  of  Hermione's 
dress  likely  to  increase  rather  than  diminish ;  hut  Susan  had 
a  great  deal  of  quiet  determination,  and  a  large  amount  of 
common  sense ;  and  even  in  preparing  a  tableau  vivant,  she 
found  them  useful.  Lady  Louisa  was  assisted  as  much  as 
was  necessary,  but  Susan  would  never  be  a  slave  to  any  per- 
son's whims,  and  escaped  from  her  again  and  again,  to  con- 
sult with  Claude  and  Helen  about  other  scenes,  or  assist 
Maurice  and  Mr.  Pearson  in  preparing  the  room,  which  was 
to  be  used  in  the  evening.  Miss  Aubrey,  a  pretty,  fashion- 
able girl,  accustomed  to  universal  homage,  was  too  grand  to 
show  much  interest  in  the  homely  details.  She  sat  apart 
and  put  forth  her  opinion,  and,  confident  of  her  own  powers, 
was  willing  to  undertake  whatever  might  be  assigned  her ; 
Lady  Louisa  gave  directions,  but  the  labour  was  left  to  oth- 
ers, and  when  Susan  and  Lady  Louisa  were  at  work  in  one 
room,  Helen  and  Claude  were  most  frequently  engaged  in 
another.  Whether  Helen  had  any  thoughts  beyond  those  of 
the  evening's  entertainment,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
say.  She  was  quieter,  less  impulsive  than  was  her  wont, 
and  seemed  unwilling  to  enter  upon  any  topics  of  conversa- 
tion, except  those  connected  with  the  business  of  the  mo- 
ment. That  had  been  her  manner  ever  since  Maurice's  un- 
fortunately loud  quotation ;  but  she  was  not  short  or  ungra- 
cious to  Claude,  only  a  little  stiff  and  silent,  if  Susan  hap- 
pened to  come  into  the  room,  and  enter  into  conversation 
with  him.  Something  seemed  lying  at  the  bottom  of  her 
heart,  which  she  would  not  allow  to  rise  to  the  surface,  but 
which  was  an  oppression.  If  it  were  jealousy,  she  had  little 
cause  for  it.  Claude's  morning  resolution  of  indifference 
was  severely  put  to  the  test  by  the  experience  of  the  after- 


ivors.  183 

noon.  Helen  had  never  appeared  to  greater  advantage. 
Her  freedom  from  vanity  and  the  littleness  of  a  -woman's 
character  was  clear.  There  "was  no  attempt  at  rivalry  nor 
wish  for  admiration.  She  consented  to  be  Lady  Jane  Grey 
in  one  tableau  with  as  much  simplicity  as  to  be  a  female 
attendant  in  another.  There  was  evidently  not  the  slightest 
thought  of  exhibition,  and  perhaps  scarcely  enough  interest, 
to  enable  her  to  do  her  part  thoroughly.  Lady  Louisa  was 
the  head  manager ;  Miss  Aubrey  the  queen,  whose  fiat  was 
law ;  Susan  the  useful,  cheerful  assistant ;  but  Helen  was — 
to  herself  at  least — nobody,  and  as  such  more  attractive  in 
Claude's  eyes  than  if  he  had  seen  her  electrifying  an  audi- 
ence by  the  most  perfect  display  of  genius. 

Yet  he  could  not  understand  it.  It  was  unlike  Helen, — 
unlike  what  he  should  have  expected  from  her.  The  check 
which  he  might  have  placed  upon  himself,  if  he  had  felt 
himself  likely  to  be  carried  away  by  admiration  only,  was 
not  felt  to  be  necessary  in  this  new  phase  of  her  character. 
His  thoughts  dwelt  upon  her, — his  eyes  followed  her  still, 
but  more  reverently — with  a  less  eager  anxiety  for  an  an- 
swering smile  or  a  bright  word  ;  and  therefore  he  would  have 
said,  if  called  upon  to  enter  upon  the  task  of  self-examina- 
tion, with  a  calmer  and  a  safer  feeling.  How  little  we  know 
of  others,  how  much  less  of  ourselves ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


Si  san  went  to  her  mother's  room,  when  the  party  dispersed 
to  prepare  for  dinner.  Anna  and  Isabella,  already  dressed, 
were  there,  the  latter  taking  her  sister's  usual  duty  of  lady's 
maid.  Susan  looked  tired  and  not  in  very  good  spirits,  but 
said  that  she  had  been  enjoying  herself. 


18-i  IVOKS. 

"  Rather  more  than  we  have,"  said  Anna.  "  I  thought 
the  afternoon  would  never  come  to  an  end.  That  intolerable 
Miss  Manners !  she  has  been  trying  her  German  metaphysics 
upon  me,  though  I  told  her  I  knew  nothing  about  them,  and 
could  only  read  Schiller  with  the  help  of  a  dictionary." 

"  One  feels  so  solitary  in  these  great  houses,  with  strange 
new  people,"  said  Isabella.  "  It  is  so  long  before  one  can  fit 
in.     Indeed,  I  never  do." 

"  Isabella  is  always  afraid  of  not  speaking,  or  looking, 
or  moving  rightly,"  said  Anna.  "  I  tell  her  it  is  great  non- 
sense, that  no  one  notices  her." 

"  Which  is  not  much  comfort,"  said  Isabella.  "  That  not 
being  noticed  is  just  the  thing  which  makes  one  solitary, 
isn't  it,  mamma  %  " 

"  In  a  measure  it  is,  my  love.  I  had  the  feeling  often 
when  I  was  a  girl,  and  comforted  myself  at  last  by  resolving 
to  look  for  everything  in  its  right  place." 

"  Not  to  expect  sympathy  and  affection  from  Miss  Man- 
ners," said  Anna. 

"  No ;  nor  companionship  from  persons  one  has  never 
seen  before.  It  is  a  lesson  one  learns  by  slow  degrees  in  the 
same  way  as  one  learns  to  fit  oneself  to  people,  by  talking 
to  them  about  things  they  understand.  There  is  a  good  deal 
of  amusement,  though  very  little  real  satisfaction  to  be 
gained  from  meetings  of  this  kind." 

"  But  one  may  scarcely  seek  for  amusement  only  in  any- 
thing," observed  Isabella.  "It  would  make  one  forget  right 
things." 

"  Not  if  one  tries  to  be  thankful  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  People  must  meet  together,  or  they  become  misan- 
thropical, and  if  they  do  meet,  they  must  have  some  light 
occupation,  which  may  suit  all.  Besides,  there  is  one  rule 
for  society  which  I  always  fancy  is  an  antidote  to  its  temp- 
tations, that  of  looking  out  for  opportunities  of  doing  littb 


ITOKS.  185 

kindnesses.  It  acts  as  a  continued  reminder,  and  puts  self 
and  self-consciousness  in 'the  background ;  and  then  one  be- 
comes easy,  and  there  is  no  more  trouble  as  to  what  people 
will  say  or  think  of  one." 

"  That  is  Susan's  way,"  said  Isabella ;  "  nothing  ever 
puts  her  out." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied  Susan.  "  I  could 
tell  you  tales  of  to-day's  trials  which  would  make  you  feel 
that  we  have  all  been  put  out, — all,  except  Helen.  "  Oh ! 
mamma,  you*  don't  know  what  she  is." 

Susan's  tone  had  an  accent  of  sadness  in  it,  which  Anna 
remarked,  and  laughed ;  but  Susan  was  still  grave.  She 
stood  by  her  mother,  without  speaking ;  watching  whilst 
Isabella  arranged  her  lace  scarf. 

"  You  will  be  late,  Susan,"  said  Anna ;  "  let  me  come 
and  help  you ;  that  fine  Mademoiselle  Annette  of  Helen's 
will  never  be  with  you  in  time." 

"  I  never  trust  to  Annette,"  said  Susan ;  "  the  house- 
maid does  just  as  well ;  but,  mamma,  is  it  so  late  ?  I  can 
dress  very  quickly." 

"You  want  a  little  talk  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Yes,  if  I  could  have  it.     I  am  sure  there  will  be  time." 

"  Dress  first,  and  talk  afterwards ;  that  will  be  the  safe 
thing.     So  run  away  now." 

"  But,  dear  mamma " 

"  Kun  away,  my  child,  and  I  will  come  to  you.  Won't 
that  do  ?     Isabella,  love,  find  my  gloves  and  the  brooch." 

Susan  and  Anna  departed,  and  Isabella,  alone  with  her 
mother,  and  always  in  good  spirits  when  she  was  useful,  con- 
fessed that,  after  all,  she  liked  staying  at  Ivors ;  she  liked 
staying  anywhere  with  mamma;  an  observation  confirmed 
by  a  kiss,  and  an  assertion  that  the  Admiral  was  quite  right, 
and  neither  Helen,  nor  Miss  Aubrey,  nor  any  of  them  could 
he  half  as  nice-looking. 


ISO  IVORS. 

Mrs.  Graham  went  to  Susan's  room  as  she  had  prom- 
ised, sent  Anna  away,  seated  herself  hy  the  fire,  in  the  arm- 
chair, and  said,  "  Now,  Susan  dear,  for  the  little  talk  ;  it 
must  be  a  very  short  one." 

Susan  left  the  final  adjustment  of  the  rose  in  her  hair, 
and,  turning  to  her  mother,  said,  "Short,  must  it  he?  If  we 
were  only  not  going  down  to  dinner !  Mamma,  I  don't 
know  what  I  want  to  say." 

"Say  something,  lore.     You  only  require  a  beginning." 

"  Well,  then  !  Mamma,  does  it  ever  do, — is  it — I  am  so 
puzzled "  and  she  drew  near,  and  knelt  by  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's chair. 

"  Go  on,  dear  child  !     I  shall  understand." 

"  Is  it  wrong  to  try  and  make  people  comprehend  each 
other  ?  or  is  it  better  not  to  worry  abont  it,  and  let  them  go 
their  own  way  1 " 

"  Mr.  Egerton  and  Helen  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  How  quick  you  are  in  guessing !  I  can't  make  it  out. 
I  don't  know  whether  they  care  for  each  other.  Mamma,  I 
don't  want  Mr.  Egerton  to  be  unhappy."  Susan's  voice 
shook  a  very  little.  "  The  other  day  I  thought  he  didn't 
feel  enough  for  Helen ;  now,  I  am  afraid,  she  doesn't  feel 
enough  for  him." 

"  She  must  have  time,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Xo  inter- 
ference will  be  good,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"Not  interference  on. my  part;  oh,  no!  of  course  not. 
But  I  long — if  women  could  only  speak  out  sometimes — 
wouldn't  it  be  a  comfort  ?  I  do  so  long  to  tell  him  that  I 
am  sorry  for  him." 

"  He  mightn't  thank  you  for  that,  my  love." 

"  He  would,"  said  Susan,  earnestly ;  "  he  likes  sympa- 
thy :  he  told  me  " — and  she  blushed  a  little — "  that  he  could 
talk  quite  freely  to  me." 

Mrs.  Graham's  countenance  changed.     She  said  quietly, 


iyors.  187 

';  You  must  have  become  very  confidential  for  him  to  have 
said  that." 

"  Not  exactly  ;  only  on  the  verge.  If  we  had  gone  on  a 
little  further — and  if  we  had  been  alone — we  might  have 
been  ; — except  that  Mr.  Egerton  would  never  tell  what  he 
feels  to  any  one." 

"  And  you  suspect  he  thinks  a  good  deal  about  Helen, 
then,  do  you'?"  inquired  Mrs.  Graham. 

"Yes,  a  great  deal,  and  I  am  afraid  more  than  she 
thinks  about  him.  Yet  she  respects  him,  and  people  praise 
him,  and  Lady  Augusta — Mamma,  I  told  you  what  hap- 
pened yesterday  morning, — I  saw  directly  what  she  wished ; 
and  I  see  what  every  one  else  thinks  and  wishes.  Miss 
Manners  and  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  seem  to  take  things  for 
granted  in  a  strange  kind  of  way,  and  I  know  that  Helen 
sees  it ;  her  manner  to  Mr.  Egerton  becomes  so  very  odd 
every  now  and  then.  It  is  as  if  she  were  being  driven  on, 
and  only  half  liked  it.  Oh,  mamma,  can't  you  see  her,  and 
talk  to  her  1 " 

"  Impossible.  How  can  I  interfere  to  prevent  what  every 
one  knows  Lady  Augusta  has  set  her  heart  upon  for  years'?  " 
said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Prevent.  Did  I  say  anything  about  preventing'?  "  asked 
Susan,  hurriedly,  whilst  the  colour  faded  from  her  cheek. 

"  You  implied  it,  my  love." 
Mamma  !   I  didn't  mean  it."     Susan's  eyes  filled  with 
.ears,  and  she  grasped  the  arm  of  her  mother's  chair.     "  I 
want  them  to  be  happy.     Dear  mamma,  you  are  quite  sure 
I  do ; "  and  she  looked  fixedly  in  ber  mother's  face. 

"  <,Hiite,  quite  sure."  Mrs.  Graham's  voice  was  a  little 
wanting  in  firmness,  but  she  went  on  calmly.  "1  under- 
stand  you  thoroughly,  my  child.  If  you  were  certain  that 
Helen  would  love  Mr.  Egerton  as  he  deserves  to  be  loved, 
you  would  be  satisfied." 


1S8  IVORS. 

Susan  did  not  say  yes.  She  leaned  her  head  against  her 
mother's  shoulder,  and  murmured:  "I  would  cut  off  my 
right  hand  to  make  them  happy ; "  and  Mrs.  Graham  re- 
plied :  "  Leave  them  to  God,  my  child,  and  pray  for  them  ; 
that  puts  all  things  right." 

At  that  moment  the  second  dinner  hell  rang. 

Helen  also  had  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  Lady 
Augusta  about  the  same  time,  hut  it  was  not  sought  on 
her  part.  Lady  Augusta  came  to  her  whilst  she  was  dress- 
ing, sent  Annette  away,  and  insisted  upon  fastening  Helen's 
dress  herself.  Helen  disliked  this  exceedingly.  She  was 
fanciful  about  her  toilette, — not  vain, — but  she  chose  to  have 
everything  done  according  to  her  own  peculiar  fashion ;  and 
if  it  had  been  a  case  of  serious  necessity,  could  scarcely  have 
been  prevailed  upon  to  allow  any  one  but  Annette  to  wait 
upon  her.  Lady  Augusta's  offer,  therefore,  was  received 
coldly,  if  only  for  that  reason ;  but  Helen  had  besides  an 
instinctive  shrinking  at  all  times  from  private  conversations 
with  her  step-mother.  In  public  they  suited  fairly  well ; 
Lady  Augusta's  knowledge  of  the  world  and  acquired  tact 
enabled  her  generally  to  do  and  say  the  right  things  at  the 
right  time,  and  in  the  right  way ;  but  the  moment  restraint 
was  over,  she  was  like  the  repelling  pole  of  the  magnet  to 
Helen.  Truth  was  at  the  root  of  one  character,  falsehood  at 
the  root  of  the  other.  Thoughtlessness,  irritability,  incon- 
sistencies, even  serious  defects,  might  be  built  upon  truth  ; 
suavity  of  manner,  kind  actions,  strict  propriety,  even  the 
appearance  of  religion,  might  be  built  upon  falsehood ;  but 
they  were  not  the  less  innately  and  intrinsically  abhorrent 
to  each  other,  and  Helen  felt  it  to  her  heart's  core. 

The  conversation  now  was  little  more  than  a  repetition 
of  that  which  had  passed  on  the  preceding  evening,  except 
that  Lady  Augusta  expressed  herself  well  satisfied  with 
Helen's  conduct  during  the  day     Hints  were  again  made  of 


Ivors.  189 

Claude's  supposed  preference  for  Susan,  which  Lady  Louisa 
Stuart  was  said  to  have  remarked ;  and  upon  this  ground, 
Helen  was  urged  to  feel  quite  at  her  ease,  although  Lady 
Augusta  professed  herself  to  have  secret  reasons  for  differing 
from  Lady  Louisa. 

Helen  was,  in  fact,  completely  mystified ;  but  Lady  Au- 
gusta's object  was  gained.  The  state  of  Claude's  feelings 
was  made  a  topic  of  paramount  interest.  Helen's  attention 
was  fully  directed  to  him  ;  her  thoughts  were  not  suffered  to 
wander  into-  other  channels ;  and  the  quickening  sting  of 
incipient  jealousy  was  added  to  keep  up  the  latent  spark, 
which  it  was  hoped  would  soon  be  developed  into  a  flame. 

As  Lady  Augusta  could  have  prophesied,  when  she  was 
gone,  Helen  thought  and  thought, — went  over  the  same 
ground  as  on  the  night  before, — questioned  her  own  heart, 
dwelt  upon  Claude's  goodness,  hated  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  for 
her  suggestions,  quarrelled  with  herself  for  caring  for  them  ; 
and,  at  length,  ringing  for  Annette,  finished  dressing  very 
hastily,  and  went  down  stairs  in  an  uneasy  frame  of  mind, 
well  suited  to  represent  the  shadow  of  coming  sorrow — upon 
the  face  of  Jane  Grey. 


CHAPTER  XXI II. 


DiNMui  was  ended,  and  coffee  taken  into  the  library;  the 
drawing-room  and  ante-room  having  been  given  up  for  the 
actors  in  the  tableaux.  Interest  and  excitement  were  in- 
creasing, especially  behind  the  scenes,  where  Lady  Louisa 
Stuart,  ir.  an  agony  of  arrangement,  was  ordering  and  sug- 
gesting, moving  lights,  criticising  attitudes,  insisting  upon 
her  own  plan  for  the  programme  of  proceedings,  and  quoting 
Shakspeare  to  the  confusion  of  her  hearers,  and  the  destruc- 


100  IVOKS. 

tion  of  prosaic  sense.  Hermione  was  to  be  the  last  scene, 
Lady  Louisa  thought,  though  she  did  not  say,  that  it  was 
best  to  create  the  greatest  sensation  at  the  end.  Helen 
would  make  a  very  good  Perdita ;  Miss  Aubrey  condescend- 
ed to  take  the  part  of  Paulina.  The  gentlemen  characters 
were  easily  distributed  amongst  Maurice,  Claude,  and  Mr. 
Pearson.  Lady  Louisa  dwelt  so  long  upon  the  plans  for  this 
scene,  that  the  two  which  were  immediately  to  precede  it 
had  but  a  short  rehearsal.  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Amy  Rob- 
sart,  in  Kenilworth,  and  Rebecca  and  Rowena,  in  Ivanhoe, 
were,  however,  more  easily  represented ;  since  both  Lady 
Louisa  and  Miss  Aubrey  had  seen  and  enacted  the  charac- 
ters several  times.  Lady  Louisa,  indeed,  was  so  fully  con- 
vinced of  her  own  capabilities,  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
she  was  persuaded  to  relinquish  the  character  of  Rebecca  to 
Helen.  The  colour  of  the  hair  she  allowed  was  against  her, 
but  age  did  not  seem  to  enter  into  her  consideration,  except 
from  the  often  repeated  remark,  that  in  a  tableau  nothing 
signified  but  the  lights,  the  dress,  and  the  attitudes ;  faces 
weio  nothing. 

The  only  remaining  scene  of  importance  was  the  presen- 
tation of  the  crown  to  Lady  Jane  Grey.  Lady  Louisa  had 
never  taken  part  in  it ;  she  did  not  know  how  to  arrange  it, 
and  the  chief  management  was  left  to  Claude.  But  then  he 
was  to  be  one  of  the  actors,  and  could  not  judge  of  his  own 
appearance;  that  was  a  great  difficulty,  and  much  consulta- 
tion and  many  changes  took  place  in  consequence.  Miss 
Aubrey  was  to  represent  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk ;  Helen, 
Lady  Jane ;  Maurice  and  Claude,  the  two  noblemen  kneel- 
ing before  her  with  the  crown.  If  Lady  Louisa  would  have 
acted  as  critic  and  director,  and  placed  them  all  in  their 
right  positions,  the  matter  would  soon  have  been  settled  ;  but 
annoyed  that  Miss  Aubrey  should  represent  the  duchess  in- 
stead of  herself,  Lady  Louisa  chose  to  withdraw  at  the  verv 


IVOES.  191 

moment  when  she  was  most  wanted,  and  excusing  herself  by 
saying  that  she  was  nearly  worn  out,  and  that  it  was  Mr. 
Egerton's  scene,  she  retired  to  the  drawing-room  and  coffee. 

"  The  consequence  of  having  to  deal  with  ladies  who 
wish  to  be  thought  young,"  exclaimed  Maurice.  ''Her 
ladyship  would  have  been  quite  competent  to  give  a  judg- 
ment upon  all  points,  if  Ave  had  offered  her  the  part  of  Jane 
Grey." 

"  She  is  very  welcome  to  it,"  said  Helen,  languidly,  and 
she  sat  down,"  and  gazed  despairingly  upon  the  untidy  room, 
and  the  scattered  lights  which  must  so  speedily  be  put  into 
order  for  exhibition. 

Susan  began  to  clear  away  all  unnecessary  articles,  and 
Mr.  Pearson  assisted  her. 

"  Susan,  you  must  be  the  spectator,"  said  Maurice.  "  You 
will  be  able  to  tell  if  it  is  all  right." 

"  I  will  be  anything  that  I  am  wished  to  be,"  replied  Su- 
san ;  "  but  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Why  not  make  Mr. 
Pearson  take  Mr.  Egerton's  character  for  a  minute  ;  and  then 
he  can  go  into  the  next  room  himself  and  judge?  " 

"  A  stiff  collar  and  tail  coat !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pearson, 
doubtfully. 

Maurice  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "My  good  fel- 
low !  console  yourself.  If  you  were  wrapped  in  a  sack  no 
one  would  notice  you." 

"  I  am  not  so  certain  of  that,"  said  Helen  ;  "  the  sack 
would  be  awkward  in  the  presence  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  and 
1  don't  know  that  the  tail  coat  will  be  much  better;  as  a 
general  rule,  though,  there  is  certainly  nothing  more  anni- 
hilating to  personal  vanity  than  a  tableau.  One's  individual 
eelf  is  so  entirely  lost  in  the  character  one  represents." 

"  It  may  be  so  with  some  persons,"  observed  Claude  to 
Susan,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  it  is  nut  so  with  all." 

"  One  must  be  free  from  vanity,  I  should  think,  at  other 
0 


192  IYOHS. 

times,"  said  Susan,  "if  one  wishes  to  be  free  from  it  in  act- 
ing1 ;  "but  Helen  was  never  vain." 

Claude  made  no  reply.  He  stood  for  a  few  seconds 
silent ;  looking  at  Helen,  then  again  addressing  Susan,  he 
said  suddenly :  "  Will  you  come  %  we  will  criticise  the  pic- 
ture together." 

They  went  into  the  drawing-room.  The  curtain  was  low- 
ered ;  only  the  flickering  of  the  fire  gave  light  in  the  room. 

Susan  longed  to  speak,  but  dared  not.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  penetrated  into  Claude's  heart,  and  could  feel  what 
he  was  feeling.  She  heard  him  sigh,  and  thought  she  would 
make  a  remark,  but  the  words  would  not  come,  and  she  only 
stirred  the  fire  and  made  a  blaze,  which  was  precisely  the 
very  thing  she  ought  not  to  have  done. 

"  Now,  then ! "  was  heard  from  behind  the  scenes,  and 
the  curtain  drew  up. 

Mr.  Pearson  had  declined  exhibiting  himself  in  his  tail 
coat,  and  Maurice  alone  knelt  with  the  crown  before  Helen ; 
Miss  Aubrey  as  the  Duchess  was  in  the  background.  Claude 
had  been  standing  close  to  Susan  ;  he  made  two  hasty  steps 
forward,  and  paused.  Susan  saw  him  put  his  hand  over  his 
eyes. 

The  actors  waited  for  the  criticism. 

"  Beautiful !  "  said  Susan,  timidly ;  but  her  admiration 
met  with  no  response. 

The  figures  slightly  breathed,  and  the  curtain  felL 
Claude  started. 

"Will  it  do?"  asked  Susan. 

He  was  gone.     She  was  left  to  answer  her  own  question. 

Mr.  Pearson  joined  her ;  then  followed  a  few  criticising 
remarks — short  consultations, — and  a  final  arrangement  of 
proceedings.  Inquiries  were  made  for  Claude,  and  some 
abuse  was  lavished  upon  him  by  Maurice  for  his  disappear- 
ance, but  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.     In  about  twentv 


ivoks.  193 

minutes  more  the  spectators  were  to  assemble,  and  a  fresh 
rehearsal  of  the  scene  was  out  of  the  question. 

Miss  Aubrey,  Maurice  and  Mr.  Pearson,  adjourned  for  a 
few  minutes  to  another  room  for  coffee.  Helen  and  Susan 
remained  behind.  Chairs  had  been  removed  from  the  apart- 
ment, and  Helen  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool  leaning 
against  the  wall.  She  drew  a  long  breath  and  said,  "  It  is 
horrible ;  it  is  being  Lady  Jane.  Susan,  how  should  one 
have  acted  ?  " 

"As  she  "did,"  replied  Susan.  "So  young  it  could  not 
have  been  otherwise." 

"  Yet  the  responsibility  was  her  own,"  said  Helen. 

"  Not  all ;  not  the  largest  share :  that  belonged  to  her 
advisers." 

"  That  might  excuse,  but  it  did  not  save  her  from  pun- 
ishment," observed  Helen. 

"  Sh  3  was  misled,"  said  Susan  ;  "  they  used  false,  subtle 
arguments." 

"But  if  they  thought  them  true,"  continued  Helen, 
"  where  lay  the  guilt  then  ?  "  She  leaned  her  head  upon 
her  hand.     "  It  is  very  perplexing." 

"  Happily,  it  is  not  likely  to  be  our  trial,"  said  Susan, 
lightly. 

"  No'; "  but  Helen  seemed  wrapped  in  thought.  Presently 
she  said :  "  She  must  have  thought  they  knew  better  than 
herself  what  was  right.     Those  who  look  on  often  do." 

"  Yes,"  said  Susan,  "  very  often." 

"  But  then  they  were  interested,"  continued  Helen,  mus- 
ingly. "  Oh,  Susan !  where  shall  one  find  in  life  a  disinter- 
ested adviser?  " 

"  In  one's  own  heart,  if  it  is  kept  pure,"  said  Susan. 
Helen  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  It  was  echoed  by  some  one  at 
her  side.  She  turned,  and  saw  Claude.  The  light  fell  on 
his  face:   it  looked  stern  and  worn.     She  asked  him  if  he 


l'U  IVORS. 

was  ill,  and  lie  answered  quickly,   "  No ;  "  but  immediately 
afterwards  sat  down  in  silence. 

Restraint  seemed  stealing  over  them.  Susan  tried  to 
break  through  it,  and  said  they  had  been  moralising  again 
about  Lady  Jane  Grey. 

lie  smiled  gravely,  and  answered,  in  a  tone  of  indiffer- 
ence, that  hers  was  a  history  open  to  much  discussion.  For 
himself,  he  looked  only  at  her  youth,  and  could  see  no  fault. 

"  But  that  of  obedience,"  said  Susan.  "  The  crown  could 
have  been  no  temptation." 

"  No,"  replied  Claude.  "  She  was  too  saintly  for  am- 
bition." 

"  Or  for  any  earthly  temptation,"  said  Susan,  "  un- 
less  "  she  stopped. 

"  Unless  what  ?  "  asked  Helen. 

"Unless  it  might  have  been  love,"  replied  Susan,  qui- 
etly, "  and  that  she  already  possessed.  Shall  I  bring  you 
some  coffee,  Helen?  I  am  going  to  fetch  some  for  myself;" 
and  she  rose  and  left  the  room. 

Helen  stood  up  as  if  about  to  follow,  but  she  was  stopped 
by  Claude. 

"  Helen  !  "  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  low  and  tremulous, 
"  is  Miss  Graham  right  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  :  I  don't  understand."  Helen  spoke  in  a 
frightened  tone. 

"Would  the  temptation  have  been  greater  if  it  had  been, 
not  the  crown  of  a  kingdom,  but  that  of  love  which  was 
proffered  for  Jane  Grey's  acceptance." 

Helen  heard  the  beating  of  her  own  heart,  but  she  an- 
swered calmly,  "  If  it  had  been  real  love,  the  love  which  we 
know  her  husband  felt  for  her,  and  which  she  returned,  I 
suppose  it  woidd  have  been  a  much  greater  temptation." 

"  But  if  it  had  been  offered  by  one  whom,  till  then,  she 
had  little  thought  of,"  continued  Claude,  "  if  it  had  been  a 


ivoks.  195 

love  almost  without  hope, — though  intense,  so  that  all  the 
energy  and  power  of  life  hung  upon  it, — would  it  have  heen 
at  once  rejected'? " 

"  It  might  have  been  her  duty  to  reject  it,"  replied  Helen, 
whilst  her  voice  shook  ;  "  no  affection  can  be  accepted  which 
is  not  reciprocated." 

Claude  would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  she  withdrew  it. 
"  Helen !  Helen  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  listen  to  me  but  for  one 
moment.  You  know  what  I  would  say, — you  must  have 
seen  and  understood.  Only  tell  me  that  I  need  not  de- 
spair." 

"  This  is  not  the  time,"  replied  Helen,  hurriedly.  "  I 
can't  talk  to  you  now.    Indeed,  Claude,  you  must  leave  me." 

The  hesitation  of  her  voice  gave  him  confidence.  "  Yes, 
I  know,"  he  said,  "  but  I  could  not  wait ;  it  was  agony.  I 
ask  only  for  hope." 

"You  would  be  miserable,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Miserable  only  in  being  parted  from  you.  Helen,  dear- 
est, save  me  from  that  anguish,  and  life  can  have  no  other 
trial." 

"  Claude,  it  is  ignorance,  blindness  ;  you  seek  your  own 
wretchedness,"  replied  Helen.  "  I  cannot  give  you  what 
you  require.  Far  greater  love  than  mine  would  be  needed 
to  satisfy  you." 

"  But  there  is  love,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Repeat  it,  Helen  ; 
in  pity,  say  It  once  more." 

She  paused. 

"  Not  love  like  mine,"  he  continued  ;  "  that  cannot  be  ; 
earth  has  none  so  true,  so  fervent.  Yet  let  it  be  but  the 
genu  of  that  love  which  you  can  give,  and  I  will  guard  and 
cherish  it  with  unutterable  thankfulness." 

"  You  deceive  yourself,  Claude,"  said  Helen,  and  her 
voice  sounded  changed  and  harsli.  "1  am  unworthy  of  you. 
Nay,  let  me  speak,"  as  he  would  fain  have  interrupted  her. 


19G  Ivors. 

"  If  I  could  give  you  the  love  you  ask  for,  it  would  not  make 
you  happy.  Your  wife  should  be  earnest,  unchangeable. 
For  me,  God  knows  I  am  weak  and  feeble  as  the  winds.  I 
cannot  trust  myself, — even  now  I  cannot.  I  feel  only  that 
I  would  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  Let  it  be  a  million  times  the  truth,"  he  exclaimed,  pas- 
sionately, "  can  it  change  love  % — and  Helen,  am  not  I  also 
weak  %  " 

"  Not  as  I  am, — not  as  I  am.  You  know  nothing  of 
me." 

"  God  knows  us  all,"  he  replied,  solemnly ;  "  we  will 
trust  ourselves  to  Him,  to  make  us  both  more  worthy  of  each 
other.     Yes  ?     It  is,  yes  %  " 

"  Claude  !  Helen  !  Susan  !  what  can  you  be  doing  % 
don't  you  hear?  they  are  coming."  Maurice  entered  the 
room  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  excitement ;  Lady  Louisa, 
Miss  Aubrey,  and  Mr.  Pearson  followed.  Susan  also  glided 
in  unperceived ;  and,  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  no  one 
remarked  that  she  had  not  been  there  before.  She  gave  one 
glance  at  Helen,  and  went  up  to  her  chair,  and,  standing 
before  it,  said,  *  We  shall  be  ready  directly.  Helen,  come 
with  me  ;  your  dress  is  wrong.  Maurice,  please  clear  the 
room.  Mr.  Egerton,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  look  at  the 
lights  1 "     Claude  moved  away  mechanically. 

Voices  were  heard  in  the  drawing-room  ;  the  party  stum 
bling  in  in  the  dark,  and  trying  to  find  seats  by  the  fire- 
light. Then  came  complaints  of  delay ;  why  did  not  the 
curtain  draw  up  %  Lady  Louisa,  behind  the  scenes,  was  in 
a  tremor  of  nervous  impatience  ;  everything  she  was  sure 
was  wrong  ;  no  one  had  done  anything  since  she  went  away  ; 
but  it  was  always  the  case,  unless  she  took  care  of  every 
detail  herself.  And  where  was  Helen  ?  and  what  was  Mr. 
Egerton  doing  ?  He  was  placing  the  lights  quite  wrong. 
She  sent  Maurice  and  Mr.  Pearson  to  take  the  office  from 


ivoks.  197 

him  ;  but  he  would  not  be  interfered  with  ;  he  seemed  bent 
upon  occupation. 

"  We  are  tired  of  waiting,"  called  out  Sir  Henry,  from 
behind  the  curtain. 

Lady  Louisa  rushed  into  the  apartment  used  as  a  dress- 
ing-room. She  found  Helen  lying  on  a  sofa  ;  Susan  by  her 
side,  with  a  glass  of  water  in  her  hand. 

"  What !  faint  1  how  unfortunate  !  what  shall  we  do  ? 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  be  Lady  Jane  myself." 

Helen  safe  up,  looking  very  ghastly.  "  Thank  you  ;  but 
I  am  not  faint ;  not  at  all ;  only  tired.  I  am  ready."  She 
rose  from  the  sofa. 

Susan  offered  her  arm,  for  Helen's  steps  tottered. 

"  She  is  faint,"  said  Lady  Louisa ;  "  you  had  better  wait, 
Helen.     We  can  change  dresses  directly." 

"  They  would  not  fit,"  said  Susan. 

And  Helen  exclaimed,  "  Impossible !  "  and  withdrawing 
her  arm  from  Susan  walked  on  alone. 

The  impatience  of  the  spectators,  in  the  meantime,  was 
becoming  more  evident.  Sir  Henry  threatened  to  come  him- 
self behind  the  scenes ;  he  was  sure  they  wanted  help.  Lady 
Augusta,  with  greater  tact,  endeavoured  to  divert  general 
attention  by  conversation ;  Mrs.  Graham  assisted  her ;  and 
for  a  few  minutes  they  succeeded  in  lulling  expectation,  and 
making  people  forget  that  they  were  sitting  in  a  dark  room 
with  nothing  to  do. 

Then  the  murmurs  rose  again.  "  It  really  was  too  bad 
to  have  brought  them  in  so  soon !  It  would  be  better  to 
go  back."  But  no — a  tinkling  bell  rang,  and  the  curtain 
rose. 

They  were  there,  vivid  as  in  life,  yet  still,  fixed,  nreath- 
less,  as  though  the  spell  of  magic,  at  one  touch,  had  convert- 
ed them  into  stone :  the  two  noblemen,  with  their  gorgeous 
crimson  doublets,  .stilt' collars,  and  silken  hose,  kneeling  and 


198  ivors. 

supporting  between  them  the  royal  crown  of  England  ;  and 
the  mother,  anxious,  grave,  standing  behind  the  chair,  from 
which  her  child  had  just  risen,  and  looking  on  them  with  an 
eye  which  would  fain  pierce  their  hearts,  and  read  the  fidelity 
or  the  faithlessness  inscribed  on  them  ;  and  the  fair  young 
wife,  so  young,  that  she  seemed  even  yet 

"  Standing  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, — ■ 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ;  " 

and  gazing — what  was  there  in  that  gaze — so  marvellous  in 
its  intensity — so  absorbing  in  its  breathless  thoughtfulness  ? 

Claude  knew — Claude,  as  he  knelt  before  her  in  his  im- 
passioned agony  of  suspense. 

The  curtain  fell,  and  Helen,  exhausted,  sank  into  the 
chair.  Claude  rose  hastily  to  support  her  ;  and  as  her  hand 
was  clasped  in  his,  there  was  a  silent  pressure,  which  needed 
no  words  to  tell  that  her  choice  was  made. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  Frances,  my  dear,  is  there  mischief  in  that  note  ?  "  The 
Admiral  asked  the  question  of  Mrs.  Graham,  who  had  just 
received  a  note  from  Ivors.  She  had  returned  to  the  Lodge, 
bringing  Susan  with  her,  as  well  as  Isabella  and  Anna. 
"  They  are  n't  wishing  you  to  go  back  again  to  their  follies, 
are  they "?  "  he  added  querulously. 

"  There  would  be  no  room  foi  us,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 
"  The  house  is  filled  with  new  visitors." 

"  Gay  London  people,  of  course,"  said  the  Admiral. 
"  And  I  suppose  they  have  more  pranks  going  on, — dancing 
and  acting,  and  such  mummeries." 


ivors.  199 

"  There  is  to  be  a  dance,  I  believe,  before  long-,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham  ;  but  they  will  have  nothing  so  pretty  as  the 
tableaux  of  the  evening  before  last.  I  can't  help  wishing, 
my  dear  sir,  that  you  had  been  there." 

"  Eight  things  in  their  right  places,"  said  the  Admiral. 
"  It's  a  great  thing  to  learn  in  this  world.  The  only 
tableau  I  shall  ever  be  fit  to  take  part  in,  will  be  one  where 
it  will  be  no  trouble  to  hold  one's  breath,  for  there  will  be 
none  to  hold." 

Mrs.  Graham  glanced  again  at  the  note. 

"  There's  mischief  in  it,"  said  the  Admiral,  his  quick 
eye  following  Mrs.  Graham's.  "Out  with  it,  if  I  am  to 
hear  it." 

"  It  may  not  be  mischief,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham.  "  In- 
deed, I  don't  see  why  one  should  think  it  likely." 

"  He  has  done  it,"  said  the  Admiral,  sternly. 

Mrs.  Graham  put  the  note  into  his  hand.  It  was  from 
Lady  Augusta. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Graham, 

"  Knowing  how  fully  you  participate  in  our  dear 
Helen's  joys  and  sorrows,  I  cannot  delay  acquainting  you 
with  the  eventful  circumstance  which  has  taken  place : — 
Claude  has  confessed  his  love,  and  it  is  accepted. " 

The  Admiral  tossed  the  note  to  the  further  end  of  the 
room. 

"Confessed  his  love  ! — confessed  his  folly  ! — his  intoler- 
able, egregious  folly !  Oh,  Frances  !  Frances !  "  The 
poor  old  man  rested  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  groaned  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment.  Mrs.  Graham  sat 
down  beside  him,  but  she  did  not  speak  to  him.  He  went, 
on  murmuring  to  himself, — "He  deceived  me!  he  told  me 
there  was  no  fear!      And  I  warned  him!     He  has  thrown 


200  ivoks. 

himself  away !  She'll  ruin  him!  She  will  spend  all  his 
money  !  A  gay  whirligig !  Oh,  Frances !  Frances !  "  Tears 
rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

Mrs.  Graham  ventured  to  hope  better  things,  hut  he 
would  not  hear  her  ;  and  still  continued,  "  Susan  would  have 
made  him  a  good  wife.  He  was  hurried  on.  It  was  the  old 
woman's  doing.  She  has  caught  him.  She  hates  Susan. 
The  child  is  worth  twenty  such  girls  as  hers ;  and  Claude, 
such  an  idiot,  not  to  see  it ! " 

He  would  not  read  to  the  end  of  the  note  until  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham remarked  that,  from  what  Lady  Augusta  said,  the  re- 
sult must  have  been  as  unlooked  for  by  her  as  by  any  one. 
Then,  with  a  kind  of  surly  curiosity,  the  Admiral  went  on 
mumbling  over  the  words,  and  commenting  upon  them  : — 

"  The  affair  has  been  a  surprise  to  us  all.  (Surprise ! 
when  she's  been  planning  it  for  years.  What  falsehoods 
women  will  tell !)  I  find  that  the  denouement  (pshaw  !  why 
doesn't  she  write  English  1)  took  place  on  the  night  of  the 
tableaux ;  but  Helen  said  nothing  to  her  father  or  to  me  till 
yesterday,  after  you  and  the  dear  girls  had  left  us.  She 
was,  of  course,  quite  certain  of  our  consent  (of  course,  when 
it  was  given  beforehand).  It  would  be  impossible,  indeed, 
to  find  any  one  more  worthy  of  our  darling  child  than 
Claude,  whom  we  have  known  and  valued  for  so  many  years. 
His  moral  worth  and  intrinsic  excellence  will  assure  to  our 
sweet  Helen  that  support  and  guidance  which  her  gentle 
feminine  nature  so  much  requires.  As  my  friend  Miss  Man- 
ners says  (Miss  Manners  !  what,  is  she  there  still  %  No  won- 
der poor  Claude  was  taken  in  with  two  of  them),  her  inward 
being  will  be  nurtured  by  communion  wTith  his  high-souled 
spirituality,  and  will  develope  itself  more  perfectly,  and  with 
a  deeper  and  fuller  appreciation  of  life  than  could  possibly 
have  been  the  case  if  she  had  been  tempted  to  bestow  her 


IVOKS.  201 

affections  upon  a  less  elevated  object.     Assured  of  your  con- 
gratulating sympathy, 

"  I  remain  always, 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  Augusta  Clare." 

The  Admiral  read  the  last  sentences  twice,  slowly,  and 
pausing  upon  the  words,  "  Inward  being  nurtured  by  high- 
souled  spirituality."  "  Beyond  me,  that !  What  does  it 
mean,  Frances  ?     Stop,  here's  a  postscript  that  may  explain." 

"  Of  course  this  communication  is  only  between  your- 
selves, the  dear  Admiral,  and  your  children  ;  Helen  so  dreads 
vulgar  gossip.  I  am  overwhelmed  with  business,  having  to 
collect  votes  for  the  Orphans'  Home,  the  Deaf  and  Dumb 
Asylum,  the  Governesses'  Benevolent  Institution,  and  the 
Befuge  for  Destitute  Servants.  I  send  catalogues  and 
names,  and  shall  feel  most  grateful  for  any  assistance  which 
you  and  the  dear  girls  can  give  me.  Miss  Manners  is  my 
indefatigable  assistant.  Helen,  dear  child !  too  happy  to 
think  of  any  of  these  terrestrial  objects." 

"  Then  she's  not  a  bit  like  her  stepmother,"  exclaimed 
the  Admiral.  "  Why,  the  woman's  drowned — over  head  and 
ears  drowned  in  the  world  !  Let  me  remember  : — '  inward 
being  nurtured  by  high-souled  spirituality  ; ' — meaning — 
yes,  don't  attempt  to  explain,  Frances ;  I  understand, — 
Ilelmsley  and  fifteen  thousand  a  year  in  the  background ;  in 
the  foreground,  Orphan  Homes — Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylums — 
Institutions  and  Refuges, — all  very  prominent! — chimneys 
of  Ilelmsley  only  seen  over  the  roofs  !  Faugh  !  And  Claude 
Egerton  lias  sold  himself  for  this  !  " 

The  Admiral  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  beat  time  on 
the  floor  with  his  slick.  He  started  up  again  in  a  few  mo- 
ments.    "What  docs  Susan  say  to  it  all?  " 


202  ivoks. 

"  It  will  be  no  matter  of  surprise  to  ner  at  least,"  replied 

Mrs.   Graham.      "She  saw "   "their  mutual  affection" 

were  the  -words  which  would  naturally  have  followed,  hut 
some  uncomfortable  recollections  rose  up  and  stopped  them. 

"  Well !  saw  what  1 "  inquired  the  Admiral,  sharply. 

"  She  saw  how  much  Claude  admired  Helen." 

"  Let  him.  What  has  admiration  to  do  with  marriage  ? 
If  a  man  is  to  marry  every  woman  he  admires,  he  may  have 
as  many  wives  as  a  Turk.  I  should  have  thought  better  of 
Claude  Egerton  ;  I  am  disappointed  in  him  ;  I  should  have 
thought  better  of  him." 

"  Only,  my  dear  sir,  now  that  the  deed  is  done." 

"But  it's  not  done, — I  tell  you,  Frances,  it's  not  done  ; 
— it  can't  and  shan't  be.  I'll  talk  to  the  boy;  I'm  his 
guardian.  He  has  no  right  to  act  without  consulting  me. 
He  has  been  taken  in." 

Mrs.  Graham  only  smiled. 

"  Don't  look  so,  Frances  ;  I  can't  bear  it."  The  Admi- 
ral was  working  himself  up  into  a  passion,  but  another  glance 
ut  Mrs.  Graham  checked  him.  "Yes,  I  know  what  you 
would  say :  it's  very  wrong ;  one  has  no  right  to  vex  when 
things  are  out  of  one's  power.  But  it's  not  done  :  '  many  a 
slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip.'  She  is  not  his  wife  yet,  eh, 
Frances  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  dear  sir,  I  can't  hope  that  any  thing  will  hap- 
pen to  prevent  her  being  so.  I  would  not  wish  for  a  better 
fate  for  Helen  than  to  have  a  husband  like  Claude." 

"  Aye,  for  her  !  well,  indeed !     But  for  him  %  " 

"  Suppose  we  don't  think  about  it  any  more  just  now," 
said  Mrs.  Graham.     It  only  frets  us  both." 

"  Oh  !  and  it  does  fret  you,  then  %  "  The  Admiral's  tone 
was  mollified ;  and  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Graham  with  some- 
thing of  his  usual  keen  but  good-humoured  expression. 

"  It  frets  me  a  little, — just  a  very  little.     I  want  to  see 
ihem  togeUier,  and  judge  for  myself  how  far  they  suit." 


IVORS.  203 

The  Admiral's  manner  changed.  "You  are  an  angel, 
Frances,  which  is  more  than  I  am.  I  don't  believe  you  ever 
thought  of  yourself  in  your  life.  If  Claude  Egerton  is  hap- 
py, it  will  be  more,  ten  thousand  times,  than  he  deserves." 

Mrs.  Graham's  countenance  showed  grave  and  anxious 
thought ;  and,  seeing  that  the  first  burst  of  the  Admiral's 
vexation  was  for  the  moment  allayed,  she  left  him  to  seek  for 
Susan. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Susan  was  in  the  drawing-room  with  her  sisters.  They  were 
busy,  as  they  would  have  been  at  home  ;  but  the  bachelor's 
state  apartment,  cold  and  neat,  was  very  different  from  the 
bright  little  working-room  at  "Wingtield  Court.  That,  per- 
haps gave  a  feeling  of  discomfort  to  the  party ;  for  there  was 
unquestionably  an  absence  of  the  cheerful  interest  in  what 
they  were  doing,  which  made  all  home-pursuits  agreeable. 
Isabella  was  on  the  verge  of  a  mood,  and  striving  against  it 
so  visibly  that  others  had  the  sensation  of  striving  also. 
One  mind  out  o^  sorts  affects  others,  as  it  were,  by  magnetic 
influence.  It  is  impossible  to  be  insensible  to  it.  Isabella, 
with  all  her  love  for  her  mother  and  sisters,  caused  them 
more  uncomfortablo  hours  than  she  Mould  have  been  at  all 
willing  to  acknowledge.  Because  the  moods  were  not  no- 
ticed, she  supposed  they  were  not  felt. 

.Mrs.  Graham,  unfortunately  for  her  own  comfort,  was  as 
quickly  alive  to  changes  in  the  moral  atmosphere  as  some 
invalids  are  to  those  in  the  physical.  She  could  see  by  the 
very  way  in  which  Isabella  held,  but  did  not  use,  (he  pencil, 
with  which  she  had  been  drawing  from  a  small  marble  bust 
of  Shakspeare,  that  something  was  wrong. 

"Mamma,  we  have  been  wanting  you  very  much,"  said 


204  ivoks. 

Anna,  as  her  mother  entered  the  room.  "  We  think  we  are 
rather  dull  after  Ivors." 

"  I  don't  think  so."  said  Isabella  ;  "  I  like  this  a  great 
deal  better  than  Ivors." 

"  Because  yon  never  like  anything,"  said  Anna,  a  little 
pettishly.  "  Mamma,  will  Lady  Augusta  ask  us  to  the  dance 
they  are  going  to  give  1 " 

"  Most  likely,  my  love ;  but  I  am  afraid  you  are  growing 
dissipated." 

"  Dear  mamma,  no  !  If  we  were  at  home  I  should  not 
care ;  but  here,  you  know,  it  is  what  Charlie  calls  slow." 

"  Charlie  comes,  we  hope,  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham,  "  and  then  we  must  be  at  home.  But  Anna, 
love,  I  must  have  you  learn  to  bear  dulness." 

"  I  can't,  dear  mamma ;  I  never  could.  It  gives  me  a 
creeping  sensation  down  to  the  tips  of  my  fingers ;  and  at 
last  I  feel  as  if  I  must  get  up  and  walk  to  get  rid  of  it.  I 
began  just  now,  and  Isabella  didn't  like  it.  I  didn't  mean 
to  worry  you,  Bella  dear ; "  and  Anna  started  up  and  gave 
her  sister  a  kiss,  and  then  laughed  heartily.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  and  I  am  so  sorry !  but  do  look,  mamma, — an  exem- 
plification of  an  inch  in  a  man's  nose !  "  She  pointed  to  an 
unfortunate  stroke,  which  by  shaking  the  table  in  her  walk, 
she  had  caused  poor  Isabella  to  make. 

"  Very  provoking ! "  said  Mrs.  Graham,  soothingly,  to 
Isabella,  who  immediately  began  to  rub  the  line,  murmur- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  that  the  drawing  was  spoilt. 

Anna  looked  really  vexed  now,  and  said  again  that  she 
was  very  sorry,  and  Isabella  made  an  effort  to  assure  ber 
that  it  did  not  signify ;  but,  although  she  could  overcome  the 
temporary  annoyance,  it  was  less  easy  to  change  the  tone  of 
feeling  which  had  caused  it  to  be  so  much  felt ;  and  Isabella 
continued  her  drawing  in  silence. 

All  this  time  Susan  had  been  engaged  in  writing, — noth- 


ivors.  205 

ing,  apparently,  very  interesting :  she  seemed  to  be  copying 
accounts.  She  looked  up  and  smiled,  when  her  mother 
asked  her  what  she  was  so  intent  upon.  Perhaps  it  Avas  the 
quick  instinct  of  affection  which  made  Mrs.  Graham  think 
that  the  smile  had  lost  something  of  its  brightness  ;  for  the 
answer  was  very  cheerful. 

"I  am  finishing  all  the  little  etds  of  business  which  I 
never  have  time  to  finish  at  home,  dear  mamma  ;  and  I  want 
to  work  hard  to-day,  because  then  I  shall  be  ready  for 
Charlie  on  Monday." 

l'I  thought  you  might  come  to  my  room  for  a  few  min- 
utes," said  Mrs.  Graham.     "  I  want  you  there." 

Susan  rose  instantly.  "  Anna,  I  think,  if  you  would  be 
kind  enough,  you  might  finish  what  I  am  doing;  if  you 
have  nothing  else  to  do,  that  is ;  and  Bella,  when  I  come 
back,  shall  we  go  on  with  the  reading  ?  "  Anna's  response 
was  hearty,  and  before  Susan  had  left  the  room,  she  was 
busy  at  work. 

Isabella  replied,  "  Yes,  if  you  like  it,"  and  continued  to 
draw,  as  if  the  reading  was  a  matter  of  indifference. 

"  Poor  child ! "  said  Mrs.  Graham,  with  a  sigh,  as  she 
closed  the  door  behind  them.  "  How  long  has  this  mood 
been  coming  en  ?  " 

"  Only  this  morning,'  replied  Susan.  "  She  was  as 
blight  as  possible  yesterday.  I  really  don't  know  what 
caused  it.  It  was  all  nonsense  about  Anna  and  the  drawing. 
She  was  only  annoyed  for  the  moment.  It  is  something  in 
her  own  mind,  I  am  sure." 

"  Dissatisfaction  with  herself,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Mrs. 
Graham.  "A  great  many  of  us  make  others  suffer  when 
our  consciences  are  uncomfortable.  But,  Susan,  dear,  you 
must  work  at  her  ;  you  can  do  more  than  I  do.  You  are  with 
her  more  constantly,  and  Bhfc  shows  herself  more  as  she  really 
is  when  only  you  and  Anna  are  present." 


206  ivoks. 

"  She  wants  to  be  humoured  so  sadly,"  replied  Susan ; 
"  and  that  is  one  of  the  things  that  perplexes  me  ;  whether 
it  is  right  I  mean.  About  the  reading ;  it  really  is  inconve- 
nient to  me ;  but  I  knew  it  was  the  only  thing  which  could 
put  her  right,  and  so  I  proposed  it." 

"  She  requires  to  be  treated  as  an  invalid,"  replied  Mrs. 
Graham, — "  and  she  is  so,  I  am  sure.  There  is  a  great  deal 
that  is  physical  in  this  morbidness ;  and  for  other  remedies 
I  see  none,  outward  at  least,  but  occupation.  She  will  be 
better  again  when  she  goes  home." 

"  And  I  don't  think  it  is  good  to  notice  the  moods,"  con- 
tinued Susan. 

"  It  is  very  bad.  Be  as  cheerful  as  you  can,  and  take  it 
for  granted  that  she  is  cheerful  too :  only  put  her  in  the  way 
of  employing  herself,  and  don't  cross  her  unnecessarily.  All 
that  soothing  and  petting  helps  matters  for  a  time,  but  it 
increases  the  evil  in  the  end.  It  seems  a  hard  thing  to  say, 
but  vanity  and  selfishness  are  often  at  the  bottom  of  these 
uncomfortable  feelings." 

"  I  wish  very  much  sometimes  that  she  was  married," 
said  Susan. 

"  She  is  rather  young  for  that  wish,"  replied  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham ;  "  and  marriage  might  increase  the  evil  tenfold.  If 
her  husband  did  not  devote  himself  to  her,  she  would  think 
his  affection  was  going  from  her,  and  make  herself  mis- 
erable." 

"  She  would  be  very  exacting,"  observed  Susan. 

"  Yes ;  and  there  are  few  men  who  can  bear  that." 

"  But  she  would  have  more  duties,"  continued  Susan. 

"  In  a  certain  way  she  has  enough  now,  if  she  would 
only  see  them.  But  I  have  not  much  hope  of  permanent 
improvement  from  these  external  causes.  There  may  be 
more  excitement  and  energy  for  a  time,  but  life  must  grow 
vapid  again,  as  years  go  on ;   and  then  the  old  evil  will  re- 


iyoes.  207 

turn.  The  spring  must  be  in  one's  own  heart,  if  it  is  ever 
to  be  kept  in  motion.  Beligion,  as  a  principle  of  love,  and 
not  merely  of  duty,  is,  I  am  convinced,  the  only  remedy ; 
and  for  that  we  must  pray  and  wait." 

They  had  reached  Mrs.  Graham's  room.  Susan  appeared 
thoughtful  and  uneasy.  Her  sister's  moods  were,  perhaps, 
more  trying  to  her  than  to  any  one  else  in  the  family.  She 
saw  more  of  them  than  her  mother,  and  had  not  the  buoy- 
ancy of  temperament  which  enabled  Anna  to  throw  off  the 
oppression  caused  by  them. 

Mrs.  Graham  regarded  her  with  anxiety.  "You  are 
tired,  my  child  ;  and  these  worries  are  too  much  for  you." 

"  Oh !  no,  indeed,  dear  mamma."  Susan's  face  was 
cheerful  in  an  instant.  "  I  only  feel  for  you.  It  must  be  so 
disappointing  after  working  so  hard  for  us  all  for  years." 

"  When  my  children  were  given  me,"  said  Mrs.  Graham, 
"I  made  up  my  mind  that  they  could  never  be  perfect;  so 
there  is  no  disappointment.  I  try  to  take  their  imperfec- 
tions as  God  has  thought  fit  to  send  them.  The  disappoint- 
ment is  much  more  with  myself,  for  not  having  done  better 
with  their  education.  Yet,  there  again  I  try  to  rest  con- 
tented, and  to  feel  that,  as  I  wished  to  do  right,  God  will,  in 
some  way  or  other,  work  good  out  of  my  mistakes.  It  is  a 
great  secret  of  cheerfulness,  Susan,  to  remember  that  one  is 
living,  not  in  Paradise,  but  in  a  fallen  world." 

"  Yes,"  said  Susan  ;  "  I  feel  that  I  am  always  longing  to 
be  perfect  myself,  and  to  have  every  one  about  me  perfect. 
And,  mamma,  it  does  seem  as  if  there  were  some  persons 
very  nearly  so." 

"  I  hope  I Ifli 'ii  will  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Graham, 
speaking  in  a  light  tone,  yet  at  the  same  time  keeping  her 
eyes  anxiously  iixed  upon  Susan's  face.  "  It  is  as  you 
thought,  Susan;  I  have  had  a  note  from  Lady  August;;, 
and " 


208  ivoks. 

"  He  is  accepted,"  exclaimed  Susan.  She  paused  for  a 
minute ;  her  colour  went  and  came  with  startling  rapidity, 
and  there  was  a  nervous  movement  of  her  hand ;  but  she 
continued,  speaking  gaily,  though  hurriedly,  "  It  was  the 
night  of  the  tableaux,  I  am  sure.  I  saw  the  change  in 
Helen's  manner, — only  I  could  not  ask ;  and  all  that  even- 
ing he  would  not  leave  her.  Lady  Louisa  remarked  it  to 
me.  And  Helen  would  not  go  back  to  the  drawing-room 
when  everything  was  over :  she  went  to  bed.  And  yester- 
day morning  I  scarcely  saw  her ;  she  avoided  me.  I  felt 
certain  there  was  something  on  her  mind.  Mamma,  mamma, 
she  must  be  happy."  Susan  sat  down,  her  elbow  rested  on 
the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  with  one  hand  she  tried  to  hide 
her  face. 

Mrs.  Graham  took  the  other  hand,  and  smoothed  it  fond- 
ly. "  You  must  not  be  anxious,  my  child.  It  is  good  for 
her — and" — she  paused — "for  him." 

Susan  gasped  for  breath,  and  looked  at  her  mother  doubt- 
fully.    "  Mamma,  are  you  sure." 

"  Sure  that  Helen  has  the  elements  of  a  great  and  noble 
character,"  began  Mrs.  Graham. 

Susan  interrupted  her.  "  Yes,  yes, — noble — generous  ; 
but — it  is  so  quick — it  is  like  a  dream." 

"  Yet  you  saw  it  coming,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  I  thought  I  did,  but  at  last "  Susan  did  not  finish 

the  sentence  ;  she  trembled  violently. 

Mrs.  Graham  gave  her  some  water,  kissed  her,  and  said, 
"  You  are  over-tired,  my  love ;  you  had  better  lie  down." 

"I  think  I  had."  Susan  smiled,  and  then  trembled 
again,  so  that  she  could  not  hold  the  glass. 

"  You  shall  rest  here  on  the  sofa,"  said  Mrs.  Graham ; 
and  she  placed  the  cushions  comfortably ;  "I  am  going 
away." 

"  Must  you  go?    dear  mamma  !  "     Susan  held  her  moth- 


ivoks.  209 

er's  band.  "  Kiss  me  again ;  donTt  go.  Mamma,  do  you 
love  me  %  " 

It  was  the  touching  tone  of  a  heart  searching  after  a 
sorrow  not  understood ;  and  Susan  leaned  her  head  on  her 
mother's  shoulder,  and  found  relief  in  tears. 

Some  feelings  are  subdued  by  being  brought  to  the  light 
and  grappled  with  ;  others  need  rather  to  be  crushed  in  the 
bud,  so  as  never  to  be  realised  even  by  those  who  are  their 
victims. 

Tbat  little  scene  was  as  if  it  had  never  taken  place,  both 
with  Susan  and  her  mother.  Susan  appeared  again  in  the 
drawing-room,  after  an  hour's  rest,  read  with  Isabella  as  she 
had  proposed,  and  walked  in  the  afternoon  into  Wingfield, 
to  see  Kate  Hope,  and  beg  her  to  prolong  her  stay,  since 
Mrs.  Graham  had  been  absent  so  much  longer  than  she  had 
at  first  intended.  Susan  was  so  equable  and  gentle  at  all 
times,  that  no  one  considered  it  strange  that  she  said  but 
little ;  and  any  appearance  of  depression  was  attributed  to 
the  fact  of  her  baving  been  over-tired  at  Ivors,  and  in  con- 
sequence not  feeling  well. 

Yet  two  things  might  bave  been  remarkable  to  any  per- 
son acquainted  with  tbe  circumstances  which  had  occurred ; 
one,  tbat  Mrs.  Graham  in  no  way  petted  Susan,  or  showed 
any  difference  in  manner  between  her  and  her  sisters ;  the 
otber,  tbat  the  fact  of  Helen's  engagement  was  known  to 
Isabella  and  Anna,  as  well  as  to  the  Admiral,  and  yet  tbat 
it  formed  no  topic  of  conversation  beyond  a  few  passing 
remarks. 

With  the  Admiral  Mrs.  Graham  was  as  explicit  as  she 
could  be,  without  touching  upon  Susan's  private  feelings. 
She  told  him  at  once  that  it  would  be  most  painful  to  her  if 
the  least  suggestion  of  his  disappointed  hopes  were  made  lo 
Susan  ;  and  it  was  as  a  personal  favour  that  she  entreated 
him  not  even  to  name  the  subject  for  the  present,  lest  in  his 


210  IVORS. 

irritation  he  might  be  induced  to  betray  the  secret  wishes 
•which  now  he  must  himself  see  ought  quickly  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

The  Admiral  agreed  as  a  child  would  have  done,  con- 
scious of  his  own  weakness,  and  simply  trusting  the  counsel- 
lor whom  conscience  told  him  would  be  wiser  and  better  than 
himself:  but  he  chafed  and  fretted  under  the  restraint,  ate 
no  dinner,  complained  of  symptoms  of  gout,  and  went  to 
bed  early,  without  asking  for  Isabella  and  Anna  and  only 
seeing  Susan  for  a  minute,  when  he  held  her  hand  in  both 
his,  and  blessed  her,  and  sent  her  away  with  a  hasty  ges- 
ture, as  though  he  could  not  bear  to  look  at  her. 

With  her  children  Mrs.  Graham  needed  only  one  argu- 
ment. It  was  her  wish.  She  did  not  say  why  or  wherefore. 
Mr.  Egerton  and  Helen  were  engaged  to  be  married,  but  the 
fact  was  not  generally  known  ;  and  it  was  her  request  that 
the  matter  should  not  be  talked  of,  even  amongst  themselves, 
for  the  present.  The  habit  of  early  obedience  made  all  such 
commands  easy.  A  few  observations  were  made  to  Susan, 
and  received  with  the  seemingly  quiet  interest  which  was 
natural ;  and  then  Isabella  and  Anna  remembered  that  it 
was  mamma's  wish  they  should  not  talk  about  it,  and  so 
they  Avere  silent. 

Poor  Susan !  she  knew  as  little  the  amount  of  suffering 
from  which  her  mother's  loving  tact  had  shielded  her,  as  she 
did  the  precipice  of  desolation  and  agony  upon  which  she 
had  been  standing.  She  fancied  herself  envious,  blamed  and 
watched  herself,  checked  every  doubtful  thought  of  Helen. 
tried  to  take  pleasure  in  contemplating  her  happiness,  and  in 
the  struggle  against  self,  found,  if  not  rest,  at  least  that 
blessing  of  a  conscience  at  peace,  which  enabled  her  to 
kneel  before  God,  and  trust  the  unknown  and  unfathomed 
grief  to  Him,  certain  that  He  could  understand  and  heal  it. 


IVORS.  211 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Ivors  was  looking  brilliantly  cheerful  under  the  influence  of 
a  south-east  wind,  and  a  clear  sunshiny  sky  ;  but  it  was  Jan- 
uary still,  treacherous,  though  fair.  The  breeze  was  sharp, 
as  it  was  met  at  the  angle  of  the  colonnade  ;  and  Helen 
wrapped  her  cloak  closely  around  her,  as  she  paced  up  and 
down  with  Claude,  peeping  in  at  the  drawing-room  windows 
when  they  passed  in  front  of  them,  and  thinking,  though  she 
did  not  quite  like  to  say  it,  that  the  fire  seemed  very  com- 
fortable. 

"  You  are  not  cold,  dearest  ?  "  said  Claude,  regarding  her 
anxiously,  after  one  of  these  pauses.  He  took  off  the  plaid 
which  he  wore,  and  would  have  put  it  round  her. 

"  Oh  !  no,  thank  you  ;  please  not,  dear  Claude."  Helen 
made  a  slight  gesture  of  impatience.  "  I  should  be  smoth- 
ered under  it." 

"  We  will  go  in,  if  you  like  it,"  he  continued ;  but  the 
tone  betrayed  that  he  would  not  like  it  himself. 

"  We  can  take  one  or  two  more  turns,"  said  Helen,  ad- 
justing her  cloak  again,  and  shivering  a  little. 

Claude  looked  distressed.  "  You  are  cold,  I  am  quite 
sure,  and  I  have  brought  you  out  against  your  will." 

"  No,  indeed,"  and  Helen  smiled  affectionately ;  "  you 
know  I  always  like  to  do  what  pleases  you." 

"  But  not  what  pleases  yourself,"  said  Claude,  a  little  re- 
proachfully. 

"  The  wind  is  rather  sharp,  you  must  own,"  said  Helen, 
in  a  playful  tone. 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but,  Helen,  I  feel  no  sharp  wind  when  you 
are  with  me." 

She  was  silent,  and  he  went  on.  "I  could  walk  to  the 
world's  end,  and  be  conscious  of  no  fatigue ;  I  could  labour 


212  ivors. 

for  years,  and  never  know  a  moment's  weariness ;  I  could 
suffer  agony,  and  scarcely  think  of  it,  for  you."    • 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.  Oil !  Claude,  I  am  unworthy  of  such 
love."  Helen's  voice  was  sad  in  its  self-reproach.  He  in- 
terrupted her  eagerly. 

"  Helen,  if  you  love  me,  you  will  never  speak  in  that 
way.     I  can't  hear  it." 

"  But  it  is  true,  Claude,"  said  Helen,  gravely  ;  "  and  you 
will  one  day  find  it  so." 

"  Let  it  be,"  he  replied,  hurriedly ;  '  I  will  wait  till  the 
day  comes.  But  surely,  Helen,  love  is  a  blessing  of  which 
we  are  all  unworthy." 

"  Some  less  so  than  others,"  replied  Helen.  "  You  have 
lived  a  life  of  usefulness  aDd  activity,  and  have,  as  it  were, 
purchased  love." 

"  Not  yet !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  it  is  my  dream  still  to  be  re- 
alised. Oh !  Helen,  I  have  so  often  pondered  upon  what  life 
might  and  ought  to  be,  and  shrunk  back  as  I  thought  I  was  to 
encounter  it  alone ;  and  now,  at  the  very  outset,  God  has 
granted  me  the  one  boon  which  I  scarcely  dared  to  ask, — a 
heart  to  share  the  burden  with  my  own, — a  precious  love,  to 
make  all  labour  light." 

"  Only  it  will  disappoint  you,"  said  Helen,  quickly. 

He  spoke  impatiently :  "  Helen,  dearest,  it  pains  me  so  ; 
why  wdl  you  always  return  to  that  one  point  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  always  present  to  me,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
I  would  not  wish  to  pain  you." 

"  Trust  yourself,"  he  replied ;  "  it  is  all  I  ask.  And, 
Helen,  we  shall  soon  have  no  leisure  for  such  misgivings ; 
there  will  be  too  much  to  do  and  to  think  of,  to  afford  time 
fur  doubt.  One  feels  that  when  placing  oneself  in  thought 
at  the  end  of  life,  and  looking  back  so  as  to  see  how  best  to 
fill  up  its  outline." 

"  That  is  not  my  way,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Helen,  a  little 


ivors.  213 

petulantly.  "  I  take  the  day  as  it  comes,  and  don't  trouble 
myself  with  the  future.  But  then  I  am  so  young,"  she 
added,  more  gravely. 

"  Yes,  you  are  yuung,"  he  replied,  tenderly ;  "  and  you 
have  been  called  upon  only  to  obey.  But,  Helen,  dearest,  I 
was  never  young,  at  least  within  my  own  remembrance  ;  and 
I  have  had  none  to  lean  upon  ;  I  have  shaped  my  own  course 
— that  makes  it  so  responsible." 

"  You  have  shaped  it  well  hitherto,"  she  replied. 

"  What  snys  the  wise  man  %  "  said  Claude,  wdth  a  smile. 
"  '  Judge  no  man's  work  until  the  end.'  And  it  is  cnly  by 
considering  the  end,  that  I  would  desire  mine  to  begin. 
What  one  shall  wish  to  have  done  when  one  comes  to  die, 
that  is  the  question." 

Helen  slightly  shuddered. 

"  Am  I  too  grave,  dearest  ?  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  talk 
so.  But  it  is  difficult  to  be  unlike  oneself."  His  accent 
showed  a  little  disappointment. 

Helen  looked  vexed,  and  said,  "  I  would  rather  always 
hear  you  say  what  comes  most  naturally  to  you." 

"  Even  though  it  may  not  be  pleasant  to  yourself,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  shall  be  better  satisfied,  Helen,  when  you  can  be- 
come more  selfish." 

"  But  I  do  like  it, — I  do  wish  to  hear.  Oh !  Claude, 
you  don't  understand,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  indeed  I  do,"  and  his  manner  was  in  an 
instant  full  of  self-reproach.  "  Helen,  darling,  forgive  me. 
It  is  a  relief  so  great  to  talk  of  feelings  and  purposes  which 
have  been  pent  up  for  years,  because  there  was  no  heart  to 

ive  them." 

"A  man  might  be  better  able  to  share  them  than  a 
woman,"  said  Helen. 

"  Never,  never.  Women  have  enthusiasm,  and  earnest- 
ness of  purpose,   even  more  than  men  ;  and  that  is  what  I 


21-1  IVORS. 

have  longed  for.     With  such  help,  I  have  felt  that  I  could 
work  for  ever." 

"  And  kill  yourself  in  the  act  of  working,"  replied  Helen, 
playfully,  "  as  every  one  says  you  will." 

"  I  hope  not.  I  don't  want  to  be  irrational.  But  life  is 
very  short,  taken  at  its  utmost  term ;  and  there  are  such  in- 
finite needs, — such  horrible,  pressing  evils  !  They  make  one 
at  times  breathless  with  their  urgency.  And  oh !  Helen, 
what  it  will  be  to  stand  on  the  brink  of  eternity,  and  think 
that  life  has  been  wasted,  that  even  one  year  had  been  passed 
selfishly ! " 

Helen  trembled,  as  she  answered,  "Not  one  year,  but 
many  of  my  life  have  been  selfish." 

"  You  accuse  yourself,  dearest,  when  others  would  see  only 
the  natural  consequence  of  education  and  circumstances.  But 
we  will  begin  together  now" — and  he  pressed  her  hand 
fondly ;  "  we  will  seek  God's  blessing  upon  our  purpose,  and 
then  set  ourselves  to  do  his  work  constantly,  and  enduring- 
ly  ;  and  thinking  only  " — his  voice  sank  as  he  added,  "  It  is 
too  great  happiness  to  realise  even  for  a  moment,  that  one 
may  at  last  hear  the  words,  '  Well  done,  good  and  faithful 
servant ! '  " 

Helen's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  but  she  was  silent. 

"  The  utmost !  "  murmured  Claude,  speaking  to  himself. 

"  Your  utm  )st  is  greater  than  that  of  others,"  said 
Helen. 

"  Not  greater  than  the  utmost  of  the  Bible,"  he  replied  ; 
"  and  how  much  less  than  the  utmost  of  the  love  bestowed 
upon  us ! " 

Helen  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  Claude  thought  she  was  un- 
happy, and  that  he  had  made  her  so.  His  tone  and  manner 
changed  :  he  was  anxious  and  caressing.  Helen,  instead  of 
responding,  became  only  very  quiet,  and  the  few  words  which 
she  spoke  were  almost  cold.     Claude  seemed  determined  not 


ivors.  215 

to  notice  it.  He  went  on,  still  pouring  forth  the  fulness  of 
his  heart ;  and  Helen  evidently,  after  a  time,  made  an  effort 
to  overcome  the  feeling,  whatever  it  might  he,  which  was 
oppressing  her.  She  answered  more  cheerfully,  and  once  or 
twice  used  some  warmer  expressions,  which  were  eagerly  re- 
ceived hy  Claude,  and  dwelt  upon ;  and  at  length,  by  de- 
grees, the  cloud  passed  away,  and  the  conversation  became 
lighter,  and  Helen's  manner  more  unrestrained.  Yet  when 
Claude  asked  if  she  would  not  like  to  go  in,  she  agreed  with 
a  readiness  cnly  partially  concealed  by  the  excuse  that  she 
had  been  walking  for  nearly  an  hour. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Claude  and  Helen  had  been  engaged  about  three  weeks : 
months  of  intimate  knowledge  might  and  ought  to  have 
been  condensed  into  the  period ;  but  they  were  strangers. 

Yet  Helen  had  not  intentionally  misled  Claude.  Towards 
the  close  of  that  same  eventful  evening  on  which  he  had  first 
declared  his  affection,  they  had  held  a  long  conversation  to- 
gether, in  which  Helen  believed  that  she  had  fully  and  trulj 
explained  the  nature  of  her  own  regard.  Claude  was  satis- 
fied,— even  more  than  that, — he  was  intensely  happy.  That 
she  could  return  his  affectior  in  any  degree,  was  almost  be- 
yond  his  hopes.  He  had  assured  her  so,  many  times.  And 
she  was  happy  herself;  honoured  by  his  love,  grateful  for  it; 
building  upon  it  as  upon  something  which  was,  as  by  a  mira- 
cle, to  change  the  whole  current  of  her  mind,  and  make  her 
good  without  effort  of  her  own  ;  above  all,  supported  by  the 
knowledge  of  the  full  satisfaction  of  her  Either  and  Lady 
Augusta;  and  the  assurance,  which  she  was  certain  would 
meet  her  on  all  sides,  that  she  had  done  well  and  wisely. 
10 


216  ivoks. 

There  had  been  no  change  since  this  in  outward  circum- 
stances. Claude  was  as  good  and  noble  as  ever ;  her  parents 
were  even  louder  in  his  praises  than  before ;  her  own  heart 
owned  that  he  was  worthy  of  all  the  affection  which  it  was  in 
the  power  of  woman  to  bestow ;  but  the  momentary  excite- 
ment was  over, — and  Helen  was  the  creature  of  excitement, 
and,   as    such,    she    deceived   others,   and   fatally   deceived 

herself. 

True,  she  had  held  a  long  conversation  with  Claude,  and 
confessed  to  him,  as  she  believed,  the  extent  of  her  regard ; 
but  it  was  a  confession  made  in  a  tumult  of  feeling,  when 
the  events  of  the  evening  had  quickened  her  pulse,  and  the 
rush  of  excited  and  gratified  vanity,  mingled  with  the  jeal- 
ousy excited  by  Lady  Augusta,  had  disturbed  both  her  con- 
science and  her  reason.  Unconsciously  she  had  been  urged 
on — unconsciously  stimulated  to  a  state  of  feeling  in  itself 
unnatural  to  her ;  and  in  that  state  she  had,  obeying  the 
truthfulness  of  her  nature,  spoken  indeed  of  coldness  and 
unworthiness,  and  fears  that  Claude's  happiness  would  be 
sacrificed,  but  with  an  accent  and  manner  which  belied  her 
words. 

How  could  Claude  be  otherwise  than  satisfied?  And 
how  could  Helen  believe  that  she  had  deceived  him  1  But 
the  reaction  came,  and  that  speedily.  Claude's  affection  was 
as  deep  as  it  was  intense.  Change  was  repugnant  to  his 
nature.  As  he  loved  one  day,  so  he  loved  the  next,  and  the 
next,  at  all  hours,  under  all  circumstances ;  and  so  of  course 
he  showed  his  love.  But  he  did  not  understand.  Helen  ;  per- 
haps he  understood  little  of  women  in  general.  In  the  eager- 
ness of  his  happiness  he  allowed  himself  to  express  his  feel- 
ings to  their  full  extent ;  it  was  the  bursting  of  the  pent-up 
heart,  the  indulgence  of  the  yearnings  which  since  childhood 
had  never  been  satisfied ;  and  Helen,  instead  of  reciprocat- 
ing, was  overwhelmed  by  them.     As  Claude's  love  became 


IVoRS.  217 

warmer,  hers  was  chilled.     The  very  truth  of  her  charactei 
told  against  him.     She  could  not  bring  herself  to  express 
what  at  the  moment  she  did  not  feel.     Often  jarred  upon  by 
the  very  tenderness  of  his   manner,  which  seemed  to  her 
almost  unnatural,  she  weighed  her  own  words,  and  checked 
nerself  when  she  would  otherwise  have  returned  his  affection. 
Claude  was  pained,  and  Helen  was  grieved;   and  in  her  sor- 
row, pity  and  self-reproach  stimulated  her  feelings,  and  she 
was  again  loving  and  grateful,  and  Claude  again  was  happy. 
As  friends,  they  might  have   been   a  mutual   comfort  and 
assistance  to  each  other,  and  regard  and  respect  might,  by 
degrees,  have  ripened  on  Helen's  side  into  a  warmer  and 
deeper  feeling.     But  she  had  placed  herself  in  a  false  posi- 
tion, and  her  intercourse  with  Claude  was  necessarily  re- 
strained and  unreal.    Most  especially  was  this  the  case  when 
ho  touched  upon  those  serious  subjects  which  Avere  always  in 
his  own  opinion  of  paramount  importance.     Before  they  were 
engaged,  Helen  was  interested  in  them,  and  believed  that,  by 
discussing  them,  her  standard  of  right  was  raised,  and  her 
judgment  improved.     She  was  not  aware  that  no  small  part 
of  the  charm  consisted  in  the  excitement  of  hearing  Claude 
talk  ;  that  similar  remarks  made  by  a  prosaic  old  woman 
would  have  been  listened  to  with  indifference.     Of  course, 
therefore,  she  believed  that  the  same  or  even  greater  pleasure 
and  benefit  would  be  derived  from  Claude's  conversation  when 
they  were  engaged;  and  if  she  had  really  loved  him,  doubt- 
less this  would  have  been  the  case.     But  the  excited  feeling 
which  Helen,  under  the  influence  of  Lady  Augusta's  goad- 
Ing  suggestions,  mistook  for  love,  could  not  support  a  change- 
able mind  like  hers  day  after  day.     It  had  been  very  pleas 
ant  to  hear  Claude  discourse  upon  grave  matters  when  she 
was  at  liberty  to  run  away  from  him  when  she  was  tired,  or 
excuse  herself  if  she  was  not  in  the  humour  to  listen  to  him  ; 
but  when  once  he  had  a  claim  upon  her,  hi-  favourite  topics 


218  ivoks. 

became  oppressive,  and  her  untamed  spirit  fluttered  like  a 
bird  in  a  cage,  longing  to  escape  simply  because  she  felt 
herself  under  restraint. 

Claude  was  perplexed  and  distressed  by  her ;  but  he  was 
in  love  with  an  ideal  being,  not  with  the  real  Helen :  and 
whenever  the  unpleasant  truth  that  his  idol  was  imperfect 
forced  itself  upon  him,  he  consoled  himself  by  the  same  delu- 
sion which  had  been  the  means  of  originally  exciting  his 
affection.  Helen  might  not  be  quite  perfect  now,  but  she 
would  become  so  by  training  and  care  s  and  he — so  he  flat- 
tered himself- — should  be  the  instrument  in  God's  hands  of 
forming  her  character.  With  this  view  he  told  her  of  his 
hopes  and  projects,  his  views  of  life  and  principles  of  action  ; 
discoursing  to  the  present  Helen  as  he  would  to  the  unreal 
and  future  one,  and  seizing  upon  every  word  or  tone  which 
showed  interest  in  his  feelings  as  indications  of  that  com- 
plete oneness  of  heart  which  he  fully  believed  was  the  joy  in 
store  for  him. 

It  was  all  a  dream,  yet  sufficient  for  happiness  if  he  were 
never  to  wake  from  it. 

And  Lady  Augusta — it  was  her  work.  "What  did  she 
know  or  care  for  all  this  ? 

Nothing.  Her  point  was  gained  ;  Claude  and  Helen 
were  engaged.  She  thought  herself  a  very  pattern  of  ma- 
ternal care.  She,  who  might  have  manoeuvred  and  married 
Helen  to  the  first  nobleman  in  the  land,  was  contented  with 
a  commoner,  and  had  chosen  Claude  for  his  goodness.  She 
had  saved  Helen  from  the  seductive  snares  of  fashionable  life, 
and,  after  educating  her  in  retirement  and  simplicity,  placed 
her  where  she  would  hold  the  comparatively  retired  position 
of  the  wife  of  a  country  gentleman.  What  mother  could 
have  acted  with  higher  principle  or  greater  prudence  ? 

"  I  have  done  my  duty,  my  love,"  was  her  self-compla- 
cent ejaculation  to  Miss  Manners.     "It  has  been  an  ardu- 


ivoks.  219 

ous  task,  but  I  have  fulfilled  it.     My  sweet  Helen's  happi- 


ness is  secure." 


Yet  "  sweet  Helen"  herself  did  not  seem  so  fully  sensi- 
ble of  this  fact  as  she  might  have  been,  particularly  when 
any  allusion  was  made  to  the  necessity  of  consenting  to 
bring  her  engagement  to  its  termination,  by  fixing  the  time 
for  her  marriage.  Delays  of  course  there  must  be.  Claude 
was  to  take  his  seat  in  parliament,  and  Helmsley  was  to  be 
refurnished,  and  the  interminable  work  with  the  lawyers  was 
to  be  hurrie'd  through.  But  Claude  was  quite  certain  that 
every  thing  could  be  ready  by  Easter ;  and  his  eager  yet 
methodical  mind  could  not  rest  without  some  settled  point  to 
dwell  upon.  But  Helen  was  variable  as  the  winds.  In  her 
good  moods  she  would  give  Claude  hope,  and  promise  to 
comply  with  whatever  he  might  think  best ;  but  in  her  wil- 
ful ones  it  was  impossible  to  keep  her  to  any  plan  for  ten 
minutes  together ;  objections  were  raised  to  every  thing  pro- 
posed, and  the  moment  a  definite  time  was  mentioned,  a 
cloud  came  over  her,  and  the  conversation  was  dexterously 
diverted  into  another  channel. 

Helen's  wayward  disposition  was  a  sufficient  explanation  of 
these  changes  to  the  world  in  general,  and  perhaps  to  Lady  Au- 
gusta ;  but  her  father  was  irritated  by  them.  His  straightfor- 
ward, manly  character,  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  follow 
the  intricacies  of  such  a  mind.  If  Helen  was  engaged  to  be 
married,  the  sooner,  according  to  his  ideas,  the  marriage 
look  place,  the  better.  He  disliked  long  engagements,  he 
said,  and  had  never  known  any  good  come  of  them.  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  people  grew  tired  of  waiting,  and  at 
length  tired  of  each  other;  and  this  opinion,  backed  by 
Lady  Augusta's  urgent  expostulations,  now  and  then  had 
some  weight  with  Helen,  at  least  apparently.  But  the  re- 
luctance lay  deeper  than  waywardness.  It  was  founded  upon 
truth, — felt,    though   scarcely    understood.       Helen    did    nof 


220  ivoks. 

love  Claude  as  a  woman  ought  to  love  the  man  whose  wife 
she  has  promised  to  he  ;  and  not  all  the  casuistry  of  philoso- 
phy could  have  availed  against  the  honest  instinct  of  her 
own  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

But  this  was  the  under-current  at  Ivors ;  on  the  surface  all 
was  cheerfulness  and  excitement.  Under  the  influence  of 
the  satisfaction  caused  hy  Helen's  engagement,  Lady  Au- 
gusta's sympathies  expanded  to  the  world  at  large,  as  well 
as  to  her  own  exclusive  coterie.  She  proposed  to  give  a  ball ; 
Helen,  who  delighted  in  dancing,  willingly  seconded  the 
idea ;  Sir  Henry  thought  it  might  further  his  political  inter- 
ests ;  and  Claude,  though  he  did  not  like  it,  yet  made  no 
open  objection.  A  ball  in  a  country  place,  and  for  political 
purposes,  must  include  every  one ;  and  persons  who  had 
never  been  admitted  within  the  precincts  of  Ivors,  except  on 
the  occasion  of  a  yearly  morning  visit,  were  surprised  by  re- 
ceiving the  unexpected  honour  of  a  card,  requesting  the 
pleasure  of  their  company  on  Thursday  evening,  Feb.  17th, 
at  nine  o'clock  Many,  and  long,  and  various,  were  the  dis- 
cussions consequent  upon  such  an  unlooked-for  event.  Pride 
whispered,  that  if  Lady  Augusta  did  not  choose  to  show 
ordinary  attentions,  she  had  no  right  to  offer  those  which 
were  extraordinary.  Timidity  made  it  doubtful  whether  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  be  the  guest  of  a  person  so  proverbially 
haughty  and  exclusive.  Indolence  thought  that  the  weather 
was  cold,  and  that  a  seat  by  a  warm  fireside  was  better  than 
a  long  drive  on  a  winter's  night.  Prudence  suggested  that  it 
would  be  a  very  expensive  affair,  dress  being  a  matter  of  so 
much  importance  with  the  fashionable  people  who  would  be 
met  at  Ivors.     But  curiosity — the  fatal  inheritance  which 


ivoits.  221 

even  heathens  regarded  as  the  source  of  all  human  ills — 
proved  stronger  than  pride,  timidity,  indolence,  or  prudence  ; 
and,  with  scarcely  one  exception,  Lady  Augusta's  invitations 
were  accepted  "  with  much  pleasure." 

"  Not  only  the  world,  but  his  wife !  "  exclaimed  Maurice, 
throwing  down  a  number  of  notes  which  had  just  arrived. 
'•  What  could  be  the  good  of  inviting  such  a  herd  of  sav- 
ages 1 " 

"Ask  Claude,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  graciously,  "it  is 
all  for  him."' 

Claude  had  just  returned  from  his  walk  in  the  colonnade, 
and,  perhaps,  was  not  in  the  very  best  of  spirits,  or  at  the 
icme  of  good  humour.  "  He  was  sorry,"  he  said,  "  to  have 
been  the  cause  of  so  much  trouble ;  but  he  scarcely  knew 
what  connection  there  was  between  himself  and  the  ball ; — 
indeed,  he  was  not  certain  that  he  should  be  able  to  remain 
for  it.  He  was  obliged  to  be  in  London  on  the  19th,  and 
possibly  he  might  be  called  upon  to  go  earlier." 

"  My  dear  Claude  !  impossible  !  we  can  do  nothing  with- 
out you ! "  exclaimed  Lady  Augusta,  with  a  countenance 
full  of  affectionate  horror  at  the  suggestion.  "  We  will  put 
off  the  party — put  it  on — do  anything, — but  we  must  have 
you." 

"  I  am  a  very  useless  person  at  a  ball,"  said  Claude.  "  I 
only  dance  because  I  can't  help  myself;  and  I  am  a  miser- 
ably dull  partner." 

"  We  will  ask  what  Helen  says,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
smiling. 

"  I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  Helen,  that  I 
can  remember,"  said  Claude,  rather  coldly.  "  It  was  one  of 
the  complaints  she  used  to  make  against  me  when  I  was  a 
boy." 

"And  she  will  make  it  still,"  observed  Lady  Louisa 
Stuart,  looking  up  from   the  table  at  which  she  was  writing. 


222  itoes. 

"  Helen  delights  in  dancing  so,  that  she  would  fain  have  you 
'  go  to  church  in  a  galliard  and  come  home  in  a  coranto.' " 

"  And  boast  of  having  the  '  back  trick '  simply  as  strong 
as  any  man  in  Illyria,"  said  Claude,  laughing.  "No,  I  leave 
all  such  marvels  to  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek.  The  only  back 
trick  I  can  attempt  in  dancing,  is  that  of  backing  cut  of  it." 

"  I  doubt,"  continued  Lady  Louisa,  regarding  him  with 
an  inspecting  eye, — "  '  I  did  think,  by  the  excellent  consti- 
tution of  thy  leg,  it  was  formed  under  the  star  of  a  gal- 
liard.' " 

Claude  looked  a  little  impatient.  "  Possibly  of  a  gal- 
liard, but  certainly  not  of  the  polka." 

"  Oh !  you  don't  know  your  own  powers  under  such  an 
instructress !  Helen,  my  love  !  "  and  Lady  Louisa  appealed 
to  Helen,  who  just  then  entered  the  room, — "your  services 
are  required  as  dancing-mistress.  Here  is  Mr.  Egerton  play- 
ing the  recreant  knight,  and  threatening  to  go  oft'  to  London 
the  day  before  the  ball,  unless  you  undertake  to  teach  him 
the  pulka." 

"  To  London  before  the  ball !  "  exclaimed  Helen.  "  Have 
you  business  there,  Claude  1 " 

She  did  not  seem  particularly  vexed  at  the  idea ;  and 
Claude  answered  with  assumed  indifference,  that  he  might 
have ;  he  could  not  say ;  but  the  ball  would  go  on  just  as 
well  without  him. 

"  You  don't  like  dancing,  I  know,"  said  Helen,  meaning 
to  make  an  excuse  for  him. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Louisa  ;  "  he  does  not 
know  his  own  mind.     Augusta,  you  really  must  interfere." 

"  There  is  no  cause  for  it,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Lady  Au- 
gusta, in  her  gentlest  manner  ;  "  Claude  is  too  well  aware  of 
the  value  we  set  upon  his  presence,  to  give  us  such  a  disap- 
pointment. Indeed,  Claude,  you  should  remember,  Helen's 
pleasure  would  be  completely  gone." 


ivoks.  223 

Helen  was  silent.  She  might  not  have  heard,  for  she  was 
turning  over  the  pages  of  a  new  club  book. 

"  1  don't  advise  Claude  to  remain,  if  he  can  escape  it," 
exclaimed  Maurice.  "  Such  a  set  of  aborigines  !  "Why,  it 
will  be  a  complete  invasion  of  cuckoos,  turning  us  out  of  our 
nest." 

Every  one  laughed.  Maurice  had  made  such  a  very 
comfortable  nest  for  himself  by  means  of  a  c/iaise  lonrjue 
drawn  near  the  fire,  that  it  was  clear  what  had  suggested 
the  fear. 

"  With  Claude  away,  and  you  devoted  to  the  care  of  your 
own  nest,"  said  Helen,  "  we  shall  be  very  happily  situated 
with  regard  to  a  master  of  the  ceremonies  for  the  aborigines. 
Mamma " — and  she  took  up  the  notes  which  Maurice  had 
thrown  down — "  who  are  all  these  people  1 " 

"  Political  acquaintances,  a  good  many  of  them,  my 
love,"  replied  Lady  Augusta :  "  persons  whom  your  father 
thinks  it  right  to  show  some  attention  to,  and  whom  it  is 
better  to  ask  en  masse,  They  will  be  less  in  one's  way,  and 
.he  one  evening  will  do  for  them." 

"  The  realisation  of  Caligula's  wish,"  said  Helen.  "  Give 
diem  one  neck,  and  kill  them.  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  right. 
I  conclude  they  will  know  how  to  entertain  each  other. 
1  f appily,  we  shall  have  our  own  party.  Maurice,  have  you 
written  about  the  band  1 " 

"  Xot  yet ;  I  shall  to-day.  Claude,  I  thought  that  you 
and  I,  and  Helen,  might  ride  over  to  Dollington  this  after- 
noon to  inquire  about  it.  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  in  that 
way  at  Wingfield." 

Claude  had  been  standing  apart  all  this  time,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  anxious  to  escape,  and  yet  not  able  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  the  effort.  When  Helen  was  present,  it  was 
always  a  difficulty  to  leave  the  room.  He  started  as  Maurice 
addressed  him,  and  answered  that  he  was  not  quite  sure 


224  ivoks. 

whether  it  would  he  possihle ;   he  thought  there  was  some 
other  ensrairement  for  the  afternoon. 

o    o 

Lady  Louisa  smiled,  satirically.  "  Don't  you  see,  Mau- 
rice, '  our  graver  business  frowns  at  this  levity.'  The  hon- 
ourable member  for  Eamsay  interest  himself  in  ordering  mu- 
sic for  a  ball !  impossible !  " 

Claude  turned  to  Helen.  "  Did  we  not  agree  to  ride  out 
to  Wingfield,  and  call  on  your  aunt  1  I  should  like  to  prove 
that  my  engagement  is  a  true  one." 

"  "Wingfield  is  on  the  way  to  Dollington,"  said  Maurice ; 
"  perhaps — the  days  are  so  short, — there  will  be  no  going 
further  if  Helen  and  Susan  are  allowed  to  gossip  together. 
But  I  suppose,  Claude," — and  he  looked  very  malicious, — 
"  you  would  not  leave  the  young  ladies  to  amuse  each  other, 
and  go  on  with  me,  and  return  again."  Claude  glanced  at 
Helen,  and  received,  in  reply  to  his  unasked  question,  the 
observation,  that  she  had  a  good  many  things  to  say  to  Su- 
san ;  perhaps  it  might  be  as  well. 

"  And  after  all,"  said  Lady  Louisa,  "  the  idea  is  not  so 
unsuitable,  when  the  errand  is  looked  upon  in  its  true  light. 

"  '  Give  me  some  music  ;  music,  moody  food 
Of  us  that  trade  in  love.'  " 

Claude  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  made  his  exit ;  whilst 
Maurice  laughed,  and  Lady  Augusta  murmured,  "  Louisa, 
you  really  are  too  bad." 

Helen  alone  was  grave,  and,  after  a  few  moments,  took 
the  opportunity  of  stealing  unperceived  from  the  drawing 
room,  and  seeking  Claude  where  he  was  most  likely  to  bo 
found — in  the  library. 


iyoes.  225 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

Claude's  countenance  and  attitude  showed  that  he  was  really 
vexed,  if  not  unhappy.  He  did  not  even  hrighten  when 
Helen  drew  near,  till  she  went  up  to  him,  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  ;  and  then  a  smile,  most  touching  in  its  gentle- 
ness and  love,  passed  over  his  face,  as  he  said,  "  Are  you 
'come  to  make  Lady  Louisa's  peace  ?  " 

"  I  am  come  to  make  my  own,"  said  Helen.  "  Claude,  I 
am  very  provoking  to  you." 

"  I  expect  too  much"  he  replied,  "  when  I  feel  that  I  can- 
not live  happily  for  a  single  day  away  from  you.  I  forget 
how  much  you  have,  and  have  always  had,  to  interest  you, 
independently  of  me." 

"  You  know  I  do  wish — yes,  I  wish  heartily — that  you 
should  be  here  for  the  ball,"  continued  Helen. 

Strange !  that  the  assurance  did  not  satisfy  him ;  but  it 
was  so. 

"  My  business  is  no  pretence,"  he  replied,  avoiding  a 
direct  reply.  "  I  do  think  it  may  be  necessary :  I  had  let- 
ters this  morning  which  made  me  fear  that  it  might  be;  but 
I  would  not  say  anything  about  them  till  I  was  certain,  fear- 
ing— but  I  don't  thine  I  need  have  been  under  any  such  ap- 
prehension." 

"You -think  I  don't  care,"  said  Helen.  He  sighed  ;  and 
Helen  continued,  in  a  tone  of  self-exculpation,  "You  have 
always  said  that  you  don't  like  dancing,  and  you  put  your  face 

nst  the  hall  from  the  beginning.  I  don't  think  mamma 
and  I  should  have  succeeded  in  it  at  all,  because  of  your  dis- 
like, if  it  had  not  been  for  papa's  fancy  of  giving  an  enter- 
tainment to — "  she  stopped. 

"The  aborigines!"  said  Claude,  a  little  bitterly ;  "you 
may  as  well  call  your  fellow-creatures  by  the  Ivors  name." 


226  ivors. 

"  Claude,  you  are  unkind,"  replied  Helen  ;  "  you  talk  of 
my  being  satirical ;  but  tbere  is  no  one,  no  one  more  severe 
than  yourself." 

"Yes,  I  own  it,"  he  exclaimed;  " I  was  wrong.  But, 
Helen,  darling,  you  know  it  was  not  against  you  I  spoke.  I 
understand — I  know  so  well  how  it  happens — I  feel  sure  it 
is  not  your  own  taste.  But  it  pains  me,  I  own  ;  it  is  so  un- 
like what  I  long  to  see, — so  unlike — may  I  quote  the  Bible 
to  you  % — the  '  charity  which  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind,  and 
vaunteth  not  itself,  and  is  not  puffed  up.'  And  I  feel,  too — 
you  must  let  me  say  it — that  it  is  so  narrow  and  petty,  my 
mind  revolts  from  it,  and  then  I  show  it.  But  I  ought  not 
to  do  it, — I  ought  to  bear  with  it  here ;  and  by  and  by,  at 
Helmsley — oh !  Helen,  you  will  learn,  if  for  my  sake  only, 
to  remember  that  in  God's  sight  the  prince  and  the  peasant 
are  equal." 

"  I  do  remember  it  now,"  continued  Helen.  "  There  is 
nothing  which  jars  upon  me  more  than  the  vulgar  assump- 
tion of  rank." 

He  repeated  the  word  "vulgar."  "Yes,  that  is  it, 
Helen.  All  that  is  vulgar  is  despised  ;  but  the  vulgarity  is 
measured  by  the  standard  of  Ivors." 

"  I  have  no  other  standard  to  measure  it  by,"  replied 
Helen. 

"  No,  you  are  right,  and  I  am  always  doing  you  injustice 
by  forgetting  it.     It  is  education." 

"  The  world  is  not  accustomed  to  think  quite  so  meanly 
of  my  education  as  you  do,"  said  Helen,  with  some  haugh- 
tiness. 

"  No  doubt,  it  has  been  a  very  good  education,  according 
to  the  world's  maxims ;  and,  Helen,  dearest,  don't  think  I 
would  be  hard  or  disrespectful.  I  feel  quite  sure  that  Lady 
Augusta  acted  on  what  appeared  to  her  the  safest  and  wisest 
principles." 


iyors.  227 

"  Only  the  results  have  not  heen  satisfactory  to  you," 
said  Helen  :  "  it  is  a  pity  that  you  did  not  make  the  discov- 
ery before  doing  me  the  honour  to  select  me  as  a  companion 
for  life." 

"  Helen ! "  exclaimed  Claude,  "  that  is  an  unfairness 
•which  is  unworthy  of  you." 

He  looked  intensely  pained.  Helen's  conscience  was 
touched,  and  she  said  more  gently,  "  I  cannot  hut  think  that 
your  opinions  on  these  points  are  exaggerated." 

"  They  may  he,"  he  said  ;  "  and  yet  whenever  I  think 
upon  them,  reasonably  and  dispassionate  ly,  they  are  strength- 
ened. I  will  speak  generally.  I  see  the  same  thing,  more 
or  less,  wherever  I  go  ;  and  amongst  really  good  people  also, 
— people  whom,  in  other  respects,  I  can  thoroughly  admire. 
In  almost  every  family,  I  see  some  particular  standard  set 
up,  by  which  the  whole  world  is  to  be  measured  ;  and  who- 
ever does  not  come  up  to  the  standard,  is,  as  it  were,  under 
sentence  of  excommunication. 

"  Put  if  the  standard  is  a  good  and  right  one,"  said 
Helen,  "  I  don't  see  where  the  harm  can  be." 

"  God's  standard  is  the  highest,"  said  Claude,  "  and  lie 
requires  us  all  to  come  up  to  it ;  but  when  we  fall  short,  He 
does  not  3ut  us  off,  or  look  upon  us  with  contempt." 

"I  d:>»"  mean  to  be  contemptuous,"  said  Helen. 

"  Dearest,  no  !  I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  I  am  certain  it  is 
only  habit.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  noticed  it  in  you, 
°"b'> — }'ou  must  forgive  my  sayiDg  it, — it  is  the  tone  of  the 
house." 

"  We  are  a  little  exclusive,  I  believe,"  said  Helen  ;  "but 
really  it  is  impossiblo  to  help  it,  the  people  near  us  are  so 
very  vulgar  and  absurd." 

"Possibly:  I  don't  know  anything  about  them;  I  am 
only  arguing  generally.  And  you  must  allow,  Helen,  irom 
your  own  experience,  that  persons  who  would  be  as  kind  as 


228  ivoks. 

possible  to  the  very  poor,  and  would  give  away  money  to  any 
extent,  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  a  sharp  criticism  upon 
individuals  just  one  degree  below  them." 

"  Very  difficult !  I  confess,"  said  Helen,  lightly  ;  "  and  I 
will  make  you  own  it,  Claude,  if  you  are  here  the  night  of 
the  ball." 

"  You  may  succeed  easily  enough,"  said  Claude.  "  I  feci 
the  more  keenly  upon  the  subject,  because  fastidiousness  is 
my  great  temptation,  and  I  have  had  such  a  keen  battle  with 
myself  to  subdue  it." 

"That  is  satisfactory,"  said  Helen.  "At  any  rate,  we 
shall  have  a"  fellow-feeling." 

"  Yes  ;  only,  Helen,  we  must  meet  upon  the  same  ground, 
and  acknowledge  that  the  thing  is  wrong." 

"  Wrong !    Not  quite  right,  perhaps  ;  a  human  infirmity." 

"Oh,  Helen,  so  much,  much  more  than  that.  Please 
look  at  it  truly." 

"What?  fastidiousness?"  said  Helen.  "After  all, 
there  is  a  great  deal  that  is  good  in  it." 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  said  Claude. 

"  It  is  founded  upon  a  sense  of  beauty,  refinement,  deli- 
cacy of  mind,"  said  Helen. 

"  All  of  which  we,  of  course,  possess  ourselves,"  said 
Claude. 

Helen  laughed.  "  If  Ave  were  in  the  Palace  of  Truth, 
I  suppose  Ave  should  be  obliged  to  own  it ;  so  I  may  as  well 
say  yes." 

"  And  Ave  are  the  exclusive  judges  of  this  beauty,  and  re- 
finement, and  delicacy,"  continued  Claude. 

"  Absurd!  "  exclaimed  Helen.     "  No  one  says  that." 

"  But  every  one  acts  upon  it,"  said  Claude.  "  If  it  Avere 
not  so,  Ave  should  give  our  neighbours  credit  for  being  some- 
times as  likely  to  be  right  as  ourselves,  and  it  might  please 
us  noAV  and  tben  to  compare  opinions." 


iyors.  229 

"  Fastidiousness,  as  you  call  it,"  said  Helen,  "  is  an  in- 
stinct founded  upon  good  sense." 

"  Given  to  us  in  preference  to  every  one  else !  "  continued 
Claude.  "  No,  Helen,  depend  upon  it,  it  is  quite  as  much  a 
habit  as  an  instinct ;  and  it  may  be  either  good  or  bad. 
Hottentots,  I  believe,  think  no  persons  beautiful  but  those 
who  have  black  skins  ;  and  that  ;s  not  a  peculiarity  of  Hot- 
tentots, but  of  mankind  in  general.  What  'sve  live  with  ex- 
clusively, we  consider  perfect ;  and  if  we  will  shut  ourselves 
up  in  a  narrow  circle,  and  mix  with  nothing  but  what  suits 
our  preconceived  impressions  of  goodness  and  refinement,  we 
also,  like  the  Hottentots,  shall  fall  in  love  wilh  our  own 
black  skins,  and  see  no  beauty  in  anything  else." 

"  The  comparison  is  unsound,"  said  Helen.  "  Hotten- 
tots are  uncivilised,  and  are  no  judges  of  beauty." 

"  But  we  individually  are  civilised  to  the  very  highest 
degree,"  said  Claude ;  "  and  not  only  civilised,  but  perfect ! 
We  cannot  possibly  make  a  mistake  in  judgment  upon  any 
question  of  manners  or  morals  !  " 

"  You  are  satirical,  as  usual,  Claude,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be,  and  I  try  not.  But,  Helen,  as  I 
sail  I  before,  everywhere  I  see  the  same  leaven  working,  and 
even  real  goodness  marred  by  it ;  growing  distorted,  bend- 
ing ii.  one  direction  like  the  trees  on  the  coast,  cut  up  by  the 
prevailing  wind.  It  is  not  merely  a  dislike  of  pretension 
and  forwardness — that  I  can  quite  understand.  The  exclu- 
siveness  which  I  complain  of,  judges  persons  even  before  they 
are  known,  because  they  don't  happen  to  belong  to  a  partic- 
ular set,  and  overlooks  real  moral  superiority  because  of 
Borne  neglect  or  ignorance  of  the  conventionalities  of  fashion." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  very  difficult  question,  that  is  all  I  can 
say,"  exclaimed  Helen,  rather  impatiently.  "I  only  know 
that  no  argument  can  prevent  my  detesting  some  things  and 
some  people.      I  need  not  say  it,  but  T  shall  always  feci  it." 


230  ivors. 

"  Your  detestation  Will  be  intensified,  I  have  no  doubt,  if 
you  indulge  it,"  said  Claude  ;  "  or  it  may  change.  There 
is  a  religious  exclusiveness  very  prevalent  in  these  days; 
perhaps  you  will  prefer  that,  by  and  by." 

"  Thank  you,  no ;  I  leave  that  to  mamma.  I  should 
never  quarrel  with  people  for  the  cut  of  their  coats  or  'he 
binding  of  their  prayer-books  ;  but  I  must  quarrel  with  them 
for  their  vulgarity  to  the  end  of  my  life." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  beyond  that  ?  "  asked  Claude. 

Helen  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Shall  we  be  likely  to  meet  those  vulgar  people  in  Leav- 
en %  "  he  continued. 

"  I  don't  understand,  Claude ;  you  are  tiresome." 

"  I  only  wanted  to  know  your  opinion  upon  the  subject," 
he  replied ;  "  because  it  strikes  me,  that  if  such  persons  can 
have  any  reasonable  hope  of  being  admitted  to  heaven,  there 
must  be  something  in  them  worthy  of  our  consideration  and 
regard  upon  earth." 

Helen  was  touched  by  his  earnestness,  and  answered 
humbly:  "Claude,  I  wish  I  could  think  like  you."  And 
Claude's  countenance  brightened  into  happiness  ;  and  in  that 
simple  acknowledgment  he  read  the  realisation  of  all  his 
hopes, — the  conviction  that  Helen  Avas  perfect  in  intention, 
though  possibly  not  always  in  practice.  His  eager  satisfac- 
tion showed  itself  in  warm  praise  ;  and  Helen,  pleased  with 
herself,  grew  pleased  with  him,  and  yielding,  as  she  always 
did,  to  impulse,  became  affectionate  and  confidential ;  and  so 
the  threatening  cloud  fov  the  moment  passed  by. 


Ivors.  231 


CHAPTER   XXX. 


It  was  by  a  kind  of  mutual  consent  that  the  subject  of 
Claude's  journey  to  London  was  not  again  brought  forward. 
Claude  was  too  happy  to  think  about  it ;  Helen  avoided  it 
without  examining  why.  She  was  in  the  most  agreeable 
mood  that  afternoon,  declined  going  :o  Dollington  with  Mau- 
rice, and  was  charmed  that  Claude  should  accompany  her  to 
AVingfield,  afid  talk  with  Mrs.  Graham  about  a  plan  he  had 
formed  for  sending  Kate  Hope  to  Helmsley,  to  be  under  his 
housekeeper,  and  make  herself  useful  in  needlework.  The 
idea  had  seized  her  fancy,  and  she  entered  into  it  with  much 
warmth  ;  indeed,  for  the  time  being,  this  little  work  of  kind- 
ness had  quite  taken  the  place  of  the  ball  in  her  interest. 
It  would  surely  have  been  very  unkind  in  any  one  to  remind 
Claude,  that  characters  are  to  be  judged,  not  by  hours  and 
days,  but  by  months  and  years.  He  did  really  think  Helen 
perfect  that  afternoon  ;  and  unquestionably  in  outward  form 
it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  any  one  more  captivat- 
ing, as  she  cantered  her  horse  through  the  park,  managing 
it  with  ease  and  grace,  and  talking  with  animation  of  the 
project  by  which  it  was  to  be  hoped  that  a  comfortable  home 
and  occupation  might  be  provided  for  the  lame  girl  at 
Helmsley.  Claude  was  never  so  thoroughly  happy  as  when 
lie  could  induce  Helen  to  talk  of  Helmsley  as  of  a  place  in 
which  all  her  thoughts  were  centred.  His  London  life  was 
always  to  him  an  episode  of  existence,  Helmsley,  with  its 
early  associations,  and  the  care  of  the  people  he  had  known 
from  infancy,  was  the  paradise  to  which  he  longed  to  trans- 
plant the  lovely  Eve  upon  whom  his  heart  was  fixed. 

And  Helen  liked  talking  of  the  place,  but  it  was  not 
always  in  the  way  which  suited  Claude.  She  had  a  good 
deal  of  girlish  curiosity,  into  which  he  was   unable  to  enter. 


232  ivoks 

Questions  about  the  number  of  rooms,  the  style  of  the  furni- 
ture, the  pictures  and  ornaments,  were  wearisome  to  him  ; 
for  he  had  scarcely  ever  thought  about  them,  and  was  often 
puzzled  when  called  upon  to  describe  them.  He  might  even 
have  been  annoyed  with  her  scrutiny  upon  these  points,  if  it 
had  been  less  simple.  He  was  occasionally  annoyed  at  Lady 
Augusta's  questions,  and  once  quietly  declined  answering 
some  impertinent  inquiries  of  Miss  Manners  ;  but  Helen  was 
in  some  respects  so  like  a  child,  that  he  was  obliged  to  treat 
her  as  such,  telling  her  all  she  wished  to  know,  yet  at  the 
same  time  endeavouring  to  make  her  look  upon  the  place, 
not  merely  as  a  home  of  beauty  and  pleasure,  but  as  the  cen- 
tre of  her  duties. 

Whether  Helen  chose  to  regard  it  in  this  light  or  not, 
depended  upon  the  humour  of  the  moment ;  and  even  on  this 
good  day,  the  mood  now  and  then  gave  symptoms  of  coming 
to  an  end.  They  talked  of  Kate  Hope  till  they  reached 
Wingfield ;  and  then  Claude  proposed  that  they  should  ride 
on  a  few  miles  further,  and  call  on  Mrs.  Graham  afterwards ; 
and  even  this  slight  interruption  gave  something  of  a  turn 
to  Helen's  quickly  changing  thoughts.  She  was  amused  by 
some  oddly  dressed  people  who  were  walking  down  the  street, 
and  was  just  beginning  to  launch  forth  in  her  usual  strain  of 
sharp  satire,  when  the  expression  of  Claude's  face  for  the 
moment  checked  her.  She  became  silent,  and  it  was  not 
quite  so  easy  afterwards  to  engage  her  in  the  same  kind  of 
conversation  which  had  given  her  pleasure  before.  Claude 
was  very  patient  with  her  in  these  variable  fancies,  and  by 
degrees  succeeded  in  bringing  round  the  subject  again  ;  and 
on  they  rode,  Helen  again  talking  as  if  her  only  object  in  exist- 
ence was  to  live  such  a  life  as  that  of  Susan  Graham,  a  life 
spent  for  others,  without  thought  for  herself. 

Toor  Claude !  how  fascinating  it  was  to  him  to  hear  her ! 
It  led  him  on  farther  than  he  had  at  first  intended.    It  made 


ivoes.  233 

him  feel  so  safe,  so  certain  of  her  sympathy  and  love,  he 
felt  that  he  might  ask  anything,  and  not  he  refused ;  and 
at  last  he  said,  quite  abruptly,  "  Helen,  I  wonder  whether 
you  would  understand  a  feeling  of  mine,  if  I  were  to  confess 
it  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  try,"  replied  Helen  ;  "  you  tell  me  I  can  some- 
times." 

"  Very  often  :  in  matters  of  taste  always  ;  but  this  is  not 
quite  taste.  You  will,  perhaps,  consider  it  a  fancy.  Lady 
Ausrusta  would  call  it  a  crotchet." 

'Mamma  thinks  many  things  crotchets  which  I  don't," 
replied  Helen. 

"  "Well,  then  !  it  is  a  fancy  about  this  ball ;  morbid,  per- 
haps— I  can't  say ;  but  it  stands  in  the  way  of  my  entering 
into  it." 

"And  is  the  cause  of  your  business  in  London,"  said 
Helen,  laughing. 

"  Xot  exactly ;  I  really  have  business.  It  is  only  the 
cause  of  my  being  less  sorry  to  be  away  than  I  should  have 
been  on  any  other  occasion." 

"  You  don't  patronise  such  things,"  said  Helen  ;  "  we  all 
know  that." 

"  I  don't  care  about  them  generally.  I  never  disliked 
them  thoroughly,  till  now.     Helen,  can't  you  understand  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  very  earnestly,  but  Helen  only  an- 
swered lightly,  "I  suppose  you  think  them  undignified." 

"Xot  for  myself;  I  have  no  dignity  to  lose,"  he  replied. 

"  Lmt  fur  me,"  exclaimed  Helen.  "  You  should  have 
told  me  this  before,  Claude."  Her  tone  showed  pique  and 
annoyance,  and  Claude  answered  quickly,  "I  could  not  put 
a  mere  fancy  of  my  own  against  Lady  Augusta's  evident 
wish,  and  yours  also.  It  would  have  seemed  unreasonable 
folly;  and  besides,  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  to  wish  to  bind  you 
by  my  own  peculiar  feelings.     Perhaps  I  might  have  been 


234  ivors. 

better  pleased  if  the  ball  bad  never  been  thought  of,  but  when 
it  Avas,  I  was  not  the  person  to  interpose." 

"  Only  you  would  prefer  my  not  taking  part  in  it,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Helen,  quietly,  though  her  colour  went  and  came 
very  fast. 

"  No,  indeed !  "  he  exclaimed.   "  I  would  only should 

you  think  me  very  severe,  Helen,  if  I  were  to  suggest  that 
there  are  some  dances,  which  I  should  feel  very  grateful  if 
you  would  consent  to  give  up  ?  I  know  I  am  asking  a  great 
favour,"  he  added,  gently. 

"  A  very  great  one,"  was  Helen's  short  reply.  "  If  I  am 
only  to  dance  quadrilles,  which  I  suppose  is  what  you  mean, 
I  may  as  well  sit  still  the  whole  evening." 

"  It  is  very  provoking,"  said  Claude,  "  and  I  thought  a 
great  deal  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  say  anything, 
knowing  how  I  should  disappoint  you ;  but  I  have  such  a 
strong  feeling  about  it." 

"  And  I  suppose,  then,  I  am  never  to  dance  the  polka 
when  I  am  married,"  said  Helen. 

"  It  would  be  my  wish,"  said  Claude ;  "  my  taste  is 
always  offended  by  it." 

Helen  rode  on  in  silent  thought ; — presently  she  ex- 
claimed :  "  I  must  say  you  very  charitable  people  are  the 
most  uncharitable  judges  I  know.  You  are  doing  the  very 
thing,  Claude,  for  which  just  now  you  blamed  me.  You  set 
up  a  standard  of  right,  and  condemn  every  one  who  does  not 
abide  by  it." 

"  Nay,  dearest,  excuse  me,"  replied  Claude ;  ';  I  set  up 
no  standard  ;  I  express  merely  a  personal  feeling.  With  all 
my  objection  to  a  particular  style  of  dancing,  I  should  be 
shocked  with  myself,  if  I  were  to  think  harshly  of  those  who 
join  in  it,  and  can  see  no  evil.  Possibly,  probably  indeed, 
their  minds  are  in  a  much  better  state  than  mine." 

"  It  is  all  a  matter  of  custom,"  said  Helen.     "  Some  one 


iyoks.  235 

was  talking  the  other  day  of  a  letter  in  the  '  Spectator,'  about 
the  enormities  of  the  country  dance.  Since  you  take  the 
strict  side  in  these  matters,  I  wonder  you  don't  object  to 
that  likewise." 

"  Of  course  it  is  a  question  of  custom,"  replied  Claude ; 
"  if  it  were  not  so,  the  present  style  of  dancing  would  be 
simply  unendurable." 

"  Then  if  it  is  custom,  there  is  no  harm  in  it,"  said 
Helen. 

"  I  ask  rQy  favour,  Helen,  for  myself,  without  reference 
to  any  other  point."  His  tone  showed  how  much  he  was 
hurt  by  her  wilful  misapprehension  ;  and  Helen  was  a  little 
frightened,  but  too  proud  to  yield  the  argument. 

"  Your  nature  is  exacting,"  she  said. 

"  Exacting !  "  His  accent  startled  her.  "  Heaven  knows 
— but  no ;  I  will  not  boast,  only  God  preserve  me  from  such 
an  evil." 

"  You  use  strong  words,"  said  Helen. 

"  Because  I  feel  them,"  he  replied.  "  Exacting  natures 
are  jealous  natures,  and  I  dread  jealousy  as  the  serpent  evil 
which  would  utterly  destroy  domestic  happiness.  I  don't 
say  I  could  never  feel  it ;  but  I  do  know  that  if  I  were  to  do 
so,  I  would  give  myself  no  rest,  either  in  prayer  or  in  a 
ceaseless  struggle,  till  I  had  subdued  it.  No,  where  I  love, 
I  must  have  trust — unbounded,  implicit.  Even  now  I  would 
have  you  free  as  the  air,  to  look,  and  move,  and  think,  and 
feel,  according  to  the  dictates  of  your  own  pure  and  noble 
nature.  And,  once  my  wife,  the  tried  love  of  centuries 
should  not  produce  a  fuller,  deeper  confidence  than  I  would 
bestow  upon  you  from  the  moment  that  I  enjoyed  the  blessed- 
ness of  calling  you  mine.  There  is  no  unworthy  feeling,  I 
trust,  in  my  wish,  Helen.  If  there  be,  1  pray  God  to  show 
it  to  me." 

Helen's  countenance  changed  during   this  speech  ;    she 


236  ivors. 

was  evidently  moved  by  it :  yet,  even  now,  the  unchecked 
pride  and  wilfulness  of  her  character  were  too  strong  for 
her  ;  and,  as  they  stopped  at  the  gate  of  Wingfield  Court,  she 
said :  "I  will  mention  your  wish  to  mamma,  and  consult  her 
about  it." 

Claude  caught  her  bridle,  as  she  was  about  to  pass  on. 
"Stay,  Helen,  stay!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  deeply 
wounded  feeling.  "  I  will  have  no  one  consulted.  If  the 
favour  I  ask  is  not  granted  from  affection,  it  is  not  worth  my 
acceptance,  I  give  it  up." 

Without  allowing  her  time  to  answer  him,  he  rode  up  to 
the  Louse,  and  rang  the  bell. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Three  weeks  at  home,  with  daily  occupation  and  continual 
sources  of  interest,  had  done  much  for  Susan  Graham  in  re- 
storing the  balance  of  her  mind.  Her  mother's  judicious 
tact  had  saved  her  from  the  useless  humiliation  of  acknow- 
ledging the  incipient  feelings,  whicb,  if  they  had  been  re- 
ciprocated, would  doubtless  have  expanded  themselves  into 
that  deeply  rooted  and  overpowering  affection  of  which  her 
heart  was  capable ;  and  not  even  to  herself  did  Susan  allow 
that  she  had  ever  entertained  any  regard  for  Claude  Eger- 
ton  beyond  that  which  their  early  acquaintance  justified. 

There  was  no  morbidness  in  her  character.  Natural  dis- 
position and  careful  education  had  preserved  her  from  such 
an  evil ;  and  when  others,  full  of  romance  and  excitement, 
though  good  and  earnest,  might  have  solaced  themselves  by 
brooding  over  the  disappointments  of  life,  Susan  found  her 
consolation  in  active  exertion. 

And  there  was  full  scope  for  such  comfort.     So  many 


ivoks.  237 

hearts  clung  to  her,  so  many  doors  were  open  to  her,  above 
all,  she  had  been  so  trained  to  show  and  draw  out  sympathy, 
that  each  day  brought  with  it  some  claim  of  duty  or  kind- 
ness to  withdraw  her  thoughts  from  herself,  and  teach  her  to 
tiud  happiness  in  the  happiness  of  her  fellow-creatures. 

It  was  a  strangely  different  life  from  that  which  Helen 
led  at  Ivors.  Occupations,  pleasures,  companionship — all 
were  unlike.  It  might  have  been  called  a  life  in  the  world ; 
she  mixed  with  it,  heard  of  it,  knew  something  of  its  evils, 
something  of  Us  temptations  ;  yet  the  brightness  of  an  angel's 
purity  could  scarcely  have  seemed  more  unsullied  than  the 
heart  of  Susan  Graham. 

Is  it  a  delusive  imagination  that  the  hand  of  God  is  over 
those  who  meet  with  evil  in  the  path  of  duty,  so  that,  even 
when  seen,  handled,  and  touched,  it  has  no  power  to  injure 
them  ? 

Helen  was  planning  gaieties  at  Ivors,  and  Susan  also 
was  planning  them  at  Wingfield.  Charlie  was  at  home,  and 
it  was  necessary  to  make  his  holidays  pleasant.  Lady  Au- 
gusta was  going  to  give  a  grand  ball ;  Mrs.  Graham  talked 
of  a  large  children's  party.  The  topic  was  under  discussion 
on  the  day  chosen  by  Claude  for  his  lirst  visit  with  Helen  to 
Wingfield  since  their  engagement.  Perhaps  Susan  might 
not  have  borne  her  part  in  it  so  comfortably,  if  she  had 
known  what  was  hanging  over  her.  The  undefined  dread  of 
seeing  Claude  and  Helen  together  was  continually  haunting 
her,  but  hitherto  she  had  never  been  tried  by  it.  The  first 
week  after  Christinas  had  been  wet  ;  during  the  second,  en- 
gagements of  various  kinds  had  interfered,  and  both  Claude 
and  Helen  disliked  riding  through  the  town,  and  were  not 
lorry  to  make  excuses  for  going  in  another  direction.  "When 
the  third  arrived,  it  1  quite  necessary  to  pay  the  visit, 

yet  it  was  put  off  from  day  to  day,  unl  il  ( ilaude  was  ashamed 
to  defer  it  any  longer,  and  persuaded  Helen  to  go.     But  Su- 


23 S  ivoes 

san  thought  less  ahout  the  probability  of  such  an  event  on 
this  day  than  on  many  former  days,  because  she  happened  to 
be  particularly  engaged  with  the  arrangements  for  the  chil- 
dren's party. 

"  How  many  are  there  going  to  be1? "  exclaimed  Charlie, 
bursting  into  the  room,  and  rushing  up  to  his  sister's  writing- 
table.  It  was  a  holiday,  and  they  had  all  been  suffering  in 
consequence  from  his  exuberant  spirits. 

"  More  than  you  will  know,  Charlie,"  was  Anna's  reply, 
whilst  she  continued  folding  up  the  notes  which  Susan  had 
been  writing ;  "  so  run  away,  like  a  good  boy." 

"  But  I  must  know,  and  I  will,  too ;  it  is  my  own  con- 
cern. You  may  as  well  give  me  the  paper  by  fair  means, 
Anna,  or  I  shall  get  it  by  foul ; "  and  he  caught  hold  of 
Anna's  arm,  as  she  held  the  paper  out  of  his  reach,  and 
pulled  it  down,  whilst  she  laughingly  strove  to  keep  it  from 
him. 

"  Tiresome  boy !  and  so  strong,  too  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  is  like  a  gaint's  grasp.  I  wish,  Charlie,  we  could  lock 
you  up  till  the  day  came." 

"  Lock  me  up !  Dear  little  chick  !"  He  seized  Anna  by 
the  throat,  and  kissed  her  first  on  one  cheek,  and  then  on 
the  other,  till  she  cried  out  for  mercy.  "  I  should  just  like 
you  to  try.  They  tried  it  at  school  the  other  day,  and 
thought  it  a  jolly  good  joke  :  and  I  was  out  of  the  window, 
and  along  the  leads  of  the  house,  and  over  some  roofs ;  and 
jump — down  I  came  like  a  cat  on  my  feet,  and  peeped  in  at 
the  school-room  window,  frightening  them  out  of  their  wits. 
They  thought  I  was  a  ghost." 

"  You  are  not  likely  to  frighten  me  out  of  my  wits,  but 
only  out  of  my  patience,"  replied  Anna.  "  But  here  is 
mamma  :  now  you  must  go  !  " 

( Jharlie  jumped  upon  the  table,  as  Mrs.  Graham  entered ; 
crossed    Lis    arms,     and    looked    provokingly   determined. 


ivors.  239 

"  Mamma,  now  haven't  I  a  right  ?  It's  my  party.  Mustn't 
they  tell  me  who's  coming?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  circumstances.  You  are  in  the 
way  now  ;  so  go  back  to  your  workshop  :  when  we  want  you, 
we  will  send  for  you." 

"  But  you  won't  have  a  set  of  old  fogies.  I  can't  hear 
them.  Just  let  me  say  who  sha'n't  come,  and  you  shall  say 
who  shall." 

.  "  A  considerable  amount  of  importance  you  young  gen- 
tlemen claim -for  yourselves,"  said  Susan,  giving  her  last  note 
to  Anna  to  direct, — "  a  veto  upon  all  matters." 

"  Of  course  !  Magister,  magistri,  magistro  !  What  is 
the  use  of  going  to  school  if  one  doesn't  learn  the  value  of 
the  masculine  gender  ?  "  exclaimed  Charlie. 

"  And  the  power  of  the  feminine,"  said  Mrs.  Graham, 
quietly.  "  My  dear  boy,  I  really  do  want  you  to  go  ; "  and 
in  an  instant  Charlie  descended  from  bis  elevated  position, 
and  ran  off,  turning  round  at  the  door  to  declare  once  more, 
that  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  make  a  protest  against  "  fogies." 

Anna  shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  came  back  to  her 
mother.  "Xow  U  xt  he  is  gone,  there  is  hope.  Dear  mam- 
ma, we  wanted  you.  Susan,  and  Isabella,  and  I,  have  some 
conscience  fidgets." 

"Xot  about  new  invitations,  I  hope?"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham ;  "  we  shall  have  such  numbers  now,  that  the  room  will 
scarcely  hold  them." 

"  They  won't  all  come,"  said  Susan ,  "  and  there  are  two 
or  three ; — I  made  a  list  of  them  ; — Anna,  you  had  it." 
Anna  found  it,  carefully  put  away  in  her  writing-case.  "  Mr. 
<  Sonyers  has  a  niece  coming  to  him,  a  girl  of  sixteen  ;  I  don't 
think  we  can  leave  her  out:  and  the  Morrisons  have  two  lit- 
tle cousins,  orphans,  so  Mrs.  Lowriesays;  and  she  thinks 
they  would  be  charmed  with  the  Christmas  tree,  though  they 
are  too  young  to  dance." 
11 


210  IVORS. 

"  It  will  involve  making  more  presents,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham ;  "  and  you  are  not  nearly  ready  now." 

"  The  presents  are  no  trouble,"  said  Anna.  "  Isabella 
can  make  a  little  needle-book,  or  some  trifle  of  that  kind." 

"  Poor  Isabella  seems  the  victim  on  this  occasion,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham  ;  "  she  has  been  working  till  her  fingers  ache 
for  the  last  fortnight." 

"  I  don't  think  she  cares,"  said  Susan  ;  "  she  is  very 
merry  about  it,  and  she  likes  working  a  great  deal  better 
than  going  out.  And  then,"  continued  Anna, — "  don't  be 
frightened,  dear  mamma, — but  Miss  Harvey  has  a  sister  with 
her,  and  I  was  describing  the  tree  to  them,  and  they  had 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing  before, — and  we  thought — would 
it  be  very  odd  to  ask  them  to  come  and  look  at  it  %  " 

Mrs.  Graham  considered  a  little.  "  We  can't  exactly 
invite  them  to  spend  the  evening,  my  love ;  it  Avould  be  out 
of  place." 

"  But  only  just  to  come  and  see  the  tree,  and-have  a  lit- 
tle present,"  said  Anna.  "  I  thought  I  would  make  Miss 
Harvey  a  case  for  her  knitting-needles ;  she  wants  one,  I 
know." 

"  They  would  only  come  just  for  five  minutes,"  said  Su- 
san ;  "  and  you  know,  mamma,  one  has  a  kind  of  feeling 
about  a  thing  which  takes  up  so  much  time  and  thought  as  a 
Christmas  tree,  that  it  ought  to  be  made  to  give  as  much 
pleasure  as  possible." 

"  Quite  so,  dear  child.  The  only  thing  to  be  considered, 
is,  whether  one  does  give  pleasure  by  bringing  persons  to- 
gether who  are  not  accustomed  to  meet ;  but  I  don't  see  any 
objection  now.  One  of  the  good  things  about  these  chil- 
dren's parties  is,  that  one  may  break  through  strict  etiquette. 
Only,  Anna,  the  invitation  had  better  be  made  by  your- 
selves. Just  say,  that  if  Miss  Harvey  and  her  sister  would 
not  think  it  a  trouble  to  come  and  look  at  the  tree  when  it 
is  lighted,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  them  here." 


ivoks.  24-1 

"And  Charlie  can  go  for  them,  and  take  them  back," 
said  Anna ;  "  it  is  just  what  he  will  like,  he  is  so  fond  of 
.Miss  Harvey." 

"  Oh  !  and,  mamma,  about  Kate  Hope  !  "  continued  Su- 
san ;  "  she  wants  to  stay  for  the  tree  too,  only  she  didn't  like 
to  ask." 

"  And  you  know  we  have  a  present  for  her,"  said  Anna  ; 
"  the  book  which  we  meant  to  have  given  her  on  New  Year's 
Bay.  We  thought  she  would  like  it  so  much  coming  off  the 
tree." 

"  I  hope  the  servants  will  see  better  than  they  did  last 
time,"  said  Susan  ;  "  people  crowded  so  before  them.  Don't 
you  think,  mamma,  it  would  he  a  good  thing  to  have  them 
in  first?" 

"  Perhaps  it  might.  About  Kate  Hope,  it  must  depend 
upon  the  arrangements  at  Helmsley.  Mr.  Egerton  sent  me 
word  he  had  heard  from  his  housekeeper,  and  meant  to  come 
the  first  day  he  could,  to  talk  about  the  plan." 

"  Are  they  in  such  a  dreadful  hurry  ?  "  asked  Anna.  "  I 
thought  Lady  Hume  said,  the  other  day,  that  she  believed 
there  \\  as  no  time  fixed  for  the  marriage." 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  soon  after  Easter,"  replied  Mrs. 
Graham. 

"  The  Admiral  doesn't  wish  for  such  haste,"  said  Anna. 

"Who  told  you  so,  my  love?"  inquired  Mrs.  Graham. 

Anna  blushed.  "  Mamma,  I  am  afraid  I  am  very 
naughty,  but  the  Admiral  is  always  quoting  'There's  many 
a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip,' — and  I  can't  help  under- 
standing." 

"I  hope  it  will  be  soon  alter  Master,"  said  Susan.  It 
was  a  very  peculiar  tone — quiet  but  forced. 

.Mrs.  Graham  gave  .one  glance  at  Susan,  but  said  noth- 
ing. Anna  exclaimed,  laughingly :  "Most  oracular!  amine 
of  meaning  underneath !  " 


242  ivors. 

Susan  tried  to  speak  more  lightly.  "  I  only  mean  that 
lung  engagements  are — I  don't  know  what  or  why — but  they 
are  bad  things,  mamma,  are  n't  they  1 " 

"  Deep  as  the  mysteries  of  Delphi !  "  continued  Anna. 

Mrs.  Graham  interrupted  her. 

"  Long  engagements,  as  a  general  rule,  try  the  strength 
iif  affection  beyond  what  is  right.  Persons  are  thrown  into 
new  circumstances,  and  form  new  ties  and  interests,  and  the 
first  freshness  of  their  happiness  wears  off,  and  their  hearts 
grow  sick  with  hope  deferred ;  and  then  coolness,  and  mis- 
understanding, and  disappointment,  are  likely  to  follow." 

"  But  not  where  people  love  truly,"  exclaimed  Susan  ;  "  a 
life  would  not  be  too  long  to  wait  then." 

"  There  are  so  many,  many  shades  of  love,"  replied  Mrs. 
Graham.  "  And  in  the  first  exuberance  of  happiness,  when 
persons  are  engaged,  it  is  easy  to  mistake  them." 

"  I  hope  Helen  won't  consent  to  wait  long,"  said  Susan. 
The  tone  was,  as  before,  very  forced  ;  but  Mrs.  Graham  would 
not,  and  Anna  did  not,  observe  it.  Her  attention  was  dis- 
tracted by  the  clattering  of  horses'  feet ;  and  Susan's  words 
had  scarcely  been  uttered,  when  Claude  and  Helen  rode  up 
to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

';  I  have  been  wishing  every  day  to  see  you,"  was  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's greeting,  as  Helen  and  Claude  entered  the  room.  She 
extended  a  hand  to  each,  and  her  face  told  much  more  than 
her  words.  Another  hand  was  timidly  given  also,  and  a 
lower  and  rather  trembling  voice  said:  "We  thought  you 
would  have  come  before  ; "  and  then  Susan  drew  back  behind 
her  sisters,  and  placed  a  chair  for  Helen  near  the  fire,  and 
asked  if  she  was  cold. 


ivoes.  243 

"A  little.  The  win  1  i<  sharp."  Helen  moved  away 
from  the  light,  and  bent  over  the  fire,  and  put  out  her  hands 
to  warm  them. 

Claude  was  like  himself,  a  little  stiff,  a  little  stern,  and 
reserved.  He  began  almost  immediately  upon  the  subject 
of  Kate  Hope.  A  letter  from  his  housekeeper  had  been  re- 
ceived that  morning.  She  would  be  ready  for  Kate  any  day 
that  might  be  named. 

♦  "  I  had  thought  of  sending  her  immediately,'  was  Mrs. 
Graham's  reply ;  "  but  Susan  tells  me  she  is  wish  ng  to  stay 
till  next  week,  when  we  talk  of  having  a  Christmas  tree. 
Of  course,  though,  she  would  go  if  she  is  wanted  before. 
There  must  be  a  good  deal  to  be  done  at  Helmsley ; "  and 
Mrs.  Graham  smiled. 

"Yes,  a  good  deal."  But  Claude  did  not  smile,  and 
added :   "  there  is  no  such  very  great  cause  for  haste." 

"  Perhaps  Helen  or  you  would  like  to  see  Kate,"  sajd 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  Helen,  my  love,  don't  you  think  it  would 
be  as  well  ?  " 

Helen  had  been  speaking  to  Anna,  and  had  not  heard. 
The  question  was  repeated.  She  started  ;  "  Yes  ;  no.  It  is 
Claude's  business." 

"  Scarcely,"  said  Claude.  "  I  am  no  judge  of  a  work- 
woman's duties." 

"  Your  housekeeper  wil"  know  all  about  it,  no  doubt," 
said  Helen.     "  It  had  better  be  left  to  her." 

In  her  pride  Helen  hoped  that  she  had  spoken  so  as  to 
conceal  her  temper,  but  every  one  in  the  room  remarked  it; 
and  Mrs.  Graham  changed  the  conversation,  and  inquired 
when  Mr.  Egerton  thought  of  going  to  London. 

It  was  Claude's  turn  then  to  be  embarrassed  ;  and  his  re- 
ply was  nearly  as  short  as  Helen's.  "He  did  not  know,  and 
had  not  made  up  his  mind." 

Mrs.  Graham  would  havebeen  singularly  dull  if  she  had 


21-i  IVORS. 

failed  to  remark  that  something  was  wrong ;  her  knowledge 
of  Helen  suggested  the  probable  cause, — a  difference  of 
opinion,  in  which  Helen  had  shown  temper,  and  given  pain. 
In  such  cases  it  was  always  better  to  leave  her  to  herself 
without  notice  ;  and  Mrs.  Graham  went  on  talking  to  Claude, 
without  addressing  her  again  for  some  minutes.  Kate 
Holies  business  was  soon  settled.  She  was  to  stay  till  the 
end  of  the  following  week,  and  then  go  to  Helmsley  under 
the  escort  of  Claude's  agent,  who  was  to  come  to  him  at 
Ivors  very  shortly,  and  return  about  that  time.  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham dared  not  ask  any  more  questions  about  plans  or  Lon- 
don. Claude's  manner  was  too  coldly  impenetrable  to  allow 
of  it. 

There  came  a  pause, — and  Claude  turned  to  Susan,  a 
smile  on  his  face,  the  first  which  had  brightened  it  since  he 
entered  the  room.  "  You  have  a  blind  friend,  I  think,  Miss 
Graham.  I  remember  your  telling  me  about  her  one  day. 
I  thought  perhaps  you  would  be  interested  in  an  account  of 
the  way  in  which  the  blind  and  deaf-and-dumb  asylums  are 
managed  in  America."  He  drew  out  a  small  pamphlet,  and 
gave  it  to  her, 

Susan's  thanks  were  scarcely  audible ;  but  Mrs.  Graham 
took  up  the  subject  directly,  and  talked,  for  her,  very  fast, 
about  blind  people  in  general,  and  Mrs.  Lowrie  especially, — 
directing  Claude's  attention  to  herself,  and  allowing  of  no 
second  pause.  Claude  seemed  quite  relieved  at  finding  some 
one  who  would  talk  for  him.  His  eye  was  very  wandering, 
and  he  was  often  absent,  and  said  "  yes,"  and  "  no,"  in  the 
wrong  place.  Helen  moved  across  the  room,  and  his  glance 
followed  her.  Susan  asked  her  to  go  up  stairs  and  look  at 
the  ornaments  prepared  for  the  Christmas  tree,  and  Claude 
started  as  if  he  had  been  asked  to  go  too.  Whatever  Helen 
might  be  feeling,  it  was  evident  that  his  coldness  towards 
her  was  not  the  cause  of  complaint ;  and  so  far  Mrs.  Graham 
was  relieved. 


ivors.  245 

"  Are  you  in  a  hurry,  Claude  ?  "  said  Helen,  stiffly,  as 
she  rose  to  leave  the  room  -with  Susan. 

He  took  out  his  watch.  "  It  is  a  quarter  to  four ;  Lady 
Augusta  does  n't  wish  you  to  be  out  late." 

"  I  really  can't  be  tied  down  by  mamma's  fidgets,"  ex- 
claimed Helen.  "  We  were  out  yesterday  till  after  five,  and 
it  did  n't  signify." 

"  Lady  Augusta  complained  to  me,  and  I  promised  her 
it  should  not  happen  again,"  replied  Claude. 

"  Mamma" niade  no  objection  to  our  going  to  Dollington," 
said  Helen ;  "  and  if  we  had  gone  we  should  have  been 
much  later." 

Claude  was  provoked  in  spite  of  himself.  He  answered, 
sharply,  "  Lady  Augusta  trusts  me,  and  I  can't  annoy  her. 
I  must  ask  you  not  to  be  long." 

"  Come,  Susan,"  said  Helen  ;  and  she  hurried  away  with- 
out any  definite  reply. 

Claude  said  no  more,  but  walked  to  the  window. 

Mrs.  Graham  spoke  to  Anna :  "  I  wish,  my  love,  you 
would  go  and  see  what  Charlie  is  doing.  He  wanted  some 
one  to  go  out  with  him." 

Anna  knew  everything,  as  she  always  did, — that  Claude 
and  Helen  were  out  of  humour  with  each  other,  and  that  her 
mamma  was,  very  probably,  going  to  talk  to  Mr.  Egerton 
about  it.  But  her  curiosity  and  interest  in  other  people's 
affairs  never  went  farther  than  her  own  mind.  There  was 
the  impulse  to  go  to  Isabella  and  give  vent  to  her  suspicions  ; 
but  then,  again,  there  was  the  lady-like  caution  and  self- 
restraint  which  had  been  instilled  into  her  from  infancy:  so 
she  went  to  find  Charlie,  and  put  her  curiosity  to  sleep. 

.Mrs.  Graham  felt  very  nervous.  Claude  remained  look- 
ing out  of  the  window.  Could  she  venture  to  interfere, 
knowing  so  little  of  him?  But  Helen  was  her  niece,  her 
Bister's  child,  only  one  degree  less  dear  to  her  than  her  own. 


246  ivoes. 

At  the  risk  of  being  misunderstood,  she  said_  "  Helen  is  a 
little  fond  of  tormenting." 

"  Very,"  said  Claude,  shortly  ;  and  he  turned  round  and 
drew  near  the  fire. 

"  She  does  herself  injustice,  -when  in  these  moods,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Graham. 

He  smiled  rather  bitterly. 

"  One  is  apt  to  forget  that  she  is  in  many  ways  a  child," 
said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  She  does  her  best  to  make  me  remember  it,"  was  the 
reply,  whilst  a  harsh  little  laugh  followed  the  words ;  and 
Claude  carelessly  took  up  a  book,  and  asked  if  there  was  a 
good  library  in  Wingfield. 

Mrs.  Graham's  boldness  increased.  "  We  are  very  old 
friends,  Mr.  Egerton ;  and  old  friends  are  allowed  sometimes 
to  take  liberties.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  merciful  to 
Helen." 

"  More  merciful,  ten  thousand  times,  than  she  is  to  me," 
he  replied,  in  a  tone  which  was  more  severe  than  any 
words. 

Mrs.  Graham  went  on  very  quietly  :  "  She  wants  train- 
ing only, — the  training  which,  I  am  sure,  you  will  give. 
Her  faults  are  all  easily  seen ;  but  she  will  never  disappoint 
you  in  the  depth  of  her  character." 

"  We  should  never  have  been  what  we  are  to  each  other, 
if  I  had  not  thought  so,"  he  replied. 

"  Perhaps,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham,  "  I  am  more  able  to 
understand  her  than  even  those  who  have  lived  with  her 
from  childhood.  She  inherits  certain  characteristics  which 
make  her  very  dear  to  me,  even  when  she  vexes  me." 

Claude  held  out  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Thank  you ;  I  feel 
that  she  is  dear  to  you." 

"  And  you  will  promise  me  to  be  patient,  then  %  "  said 
Mrs.   Graham,  with  a  smile,  as  she  warmly  returned  the 


IVORS. 


247 


nearty   pressure    of    his   band  ;     "  and    if    ever "    she 

paused. 

Claude  understood  her.  "  If  ever  we  want  a  friend,  we 
shall  both  feel  that  no  one  can  be  found  more  true  than 
yourself." 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  relieved.  "  That  is  just  what  I 
wanted  to  say.  I  am  quite  aware  tbat  no  third  person  can 
expect  to  do  much  for  those  wlo  should  be,  and  who  must  be, 
as  one :  but  it  is  sometimes  a  relief  to  know  tbat  one  may 
speak  of  a  trifling  annoyance  without  fear  of  giving  a  wrong 
impression." 

"  Helen  need  never  fear  the  consequences  of  trifling  an- 
noyances," said  Claude,  quickly. 

"  And  she  will  never  give  you  cause  to  complain  of  great 
ones,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

He  was  silent,  took  up  his  hat,  and  went  towards  the 
dour,  saying  that  he  wished  to  give  some  order  about  the 
horses :  came  back,  and  once  more  grasped  Mrs.  Graham's 
nand,  and  hurried  away. 

She  saw  him  standing  by  the  horses,  and  afterwards 
walking  up  and  down  the  gravel  sweep  ;  but  he  did  not  re- 
turn to  her  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Helen  followed  Susan  to  her  room  with  the  proud  step  of 
determined  wilfulness,  and  in  that  same  mood  she  inspected 
tli'j  various  articles  which  were  brought  forward,  gave  her 
opinion  of  them,  talked  lightly,  and  laughed,  though  with  a 
hollow  mirth,  which  left  the  echo  of  sadness  behind.  It  was 
very  painful  to  Susan,  much  more  so  than  any  burst  of  feel- 
ing could  have  been  ;    it  jarred  upon  her,  and  made  her  feel 


2 18  ivoks. 

angry  ;  and  Helen's  affectionate  words  were  received  coldly, 
in  spite  of  her  endeavours  to  the  contrary.  Helen  saw 
this,  and  it  increased  her  pride.  She  lingered  much  longer 
than  was  necessary,  inspecting  every  little  trifle,  and  asking 
useless  questions,  whilst  appearing  not  to  perceive  that  Su- 
san, every  now  and  then,  went  into  the  adjoining  room  to 
look  at  the  horses,  which  the  gardener  was  leading  up  and 
down  the  sweep.  She  was,  however,  ohliged  to  notice  the 
fact  at  last,  for  Susan  came  hack,  and  said,  "Mr.  Egerton  is 
there,  waiting." 

"  Is  he  ?  "  Helen  went  on,  slowly  winding  up  a  little 
yard  measure. 

"  He  will  he  impatient,"  said  Susan. 

"  Then  it  will  do  him  good  to  be  taught  a  lesson  to  the 
contrary." 

"  Helen  !   how  like  a  naughty  child  !  "   exclaimed  Susan. 

"  Not  at  all.     I  have  no  notion  of  spoiling  people." 

"  Though  you  have  been  spoilt  yourself,"  remarked 
Susan. 

"  So  you  are  pleased  to  tell  me.  But  you  need  have  no 
fears  for  the  future ;  Claude  will  never  spoil  me." 

"  Probably  not,  if  you  tease  him  in  the  way  you  are 
doing  now." 

"  Tease  him  !  it  is  he  who  teases  me.  I  have  no  notion 
of  allowing  any  man  to  be  so  domineering." 

"  Helen  !  Helen  !  how  unjust !  "  exclaimed  Susan.  "  Mr. 
Egerton  is  the  last  person " 

Helen  interrupted  her.  "  Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to 
judge  from  my  own  experience,  Susan.  You  cannot  possibly 
tell  what  Mr.  Egerton  will  or  will  not  do ;  unless  " — and 
there  was  a  marked  asperity  in  her  tone — "  he  has  been 
pleased  to  confide  his  private  feelings  to  you." 

Susan's  countenance  changed,  but  she  answered  in  a  tone 
of  quiet  dignity :    "  Dear  Helen,  you  must  of  course  know 


ivoes.  249 

more  of  Mr.  Egerton  than  I  do ;  and  I  can  have  no  right  to 
make  any  remark  ahout  him :  but  I  think  you  are  wrong  to 
thwart  him  unnecessarily." 

Helen  turned  away.  Susan  thought  she  was  angry  ;  but 
when  she  approached  and  kissed  her,  tears  were  streaming 
down  her  face. 

Helen  sat  down,  tried  to  brush  them  away,  and  looked 
up  with  a  smile  ;  but  it  would  not  do  ;  they  came  faster  than 
before.  "  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter — it  is  very 
silly,"  she  said ;  pride  still  urging  her  to  conceal  her  real 
feelings. 

"  If  I  could  help  you,  I  would,  you  know,"  said  Susan. 

"You  might,  but  you  would  think  me  wrong.  We  are 
so  different !     Susan,  I  can't  be  obedient." 

Susan  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Helen,  dear !  all  per- 
sons who  know  you,  know  that." 

"  And  Claude  wishes  me  to  be,"  continued  Helen.  "  He 
is  exacting ;  I  feel  I  shall  be  kept  in  perpetual  restraint,  and 
I  can't  be,  I  won't  be  ;  he  must  learn  it  now,  or,  Susan,  we 
shall  be  miserable ; "  and  then  came  a  burst  of  passionate 
tears. 

A  mist  seemed  to  hang  upon  Susan's  eyes,  a  weight 
pressed  upon  her  brain  ;  yet  she  answered  calmly,  "  Dearest 
Helen !  it  may  not  be  Mr.  Egerton's  fault ;  it  may  be  your 
own.  I  suppose  all  men  are  exacting  when  they  love.  It 
must  be  love  which  makes  them  so ;  and  he  is  so  good  and 
kind,  so  devoted  to  you.  One  word  would  put  all  right  now, 
but  you  may  vex  him  too  far." 

"  Too  far  !  "  Helen  started  up,  her  eyes  flashing  with  in- 
dignation ;  "  what  is  a  man's  affection  worth,  if  he  is  to  be 
vexed  too  far  ?  " 

'•  .Men  are  human,"  said  Susan. 

"  Then  let  him  be  vexed  too  far  !  "  replied  Helen,  haugh 
tily  ;  "  better  before  marriage  than  after  it." 


250  ivors. 

Susan  seized  her  cousin's  hand;  her  voice  trembled 
"Helen!  dear,  dear  Helen!  Think  what  you  say;  what 
a  treasure  you  are  casting  from  you.  Let  mamma  talk  to 
yon  ;  she  will  understand  and  help  you.  Let  me  go  for  her ! 
Oh,  Helen !  you  make  me  so  wretched." 

And  Susan  spoke  truth  ;  she  was  wretched,  miserable,  for 
Helen  ;  yet  the  mist  still  brooded  upon  her ;  the  veil 
through  which  she  dared  not  penetrate,  hung  before  her 
eyes. 

"  I  Avill  speak  to  no  one  but  you  ;  none  else  can  help  me  ; 
and  it  is  such  foil/;  you  only  will  understand  and  bear  with 
me.  Susan,  you  may  think  me  mad,  a  childish  idiot,  but — 
he  would  bind  me  down — I  can't  say  it ;  it  is  such  noth- 
ingness." 

"  Then  why  not  give  in,  if  it  is  nothing  1 "  said  Susan. 

"  But  it  is  something ;  it  is  restraint,  tyranny,  jealousy," 
exclaimed  Helen  ;  "  it  is  about — Susan,  don't  despise  me  ; — 
he  wants  me  to  promise — he  has  absurd  fancies  about  danc- 
ing, and  he  would  not  let  me  be  free  like  other  girls.  But 
you  won't  understand,  because  my  aunt  was  always  so  par- 
ticular with  you.  He  wTould  only  let  me  dance  quadrilles, 
and  he  may  be  going  away  himself,  and " 

"  Helen  !  dearest !  " — Susan's  face  expressed  what  she 
could  not  find  words  to  say. 

"  You  think  me  wrong,"  exclaimed  Helen ;    "  but  you 
can't  comprehend." 

"  It  is  such  a  slight  favour ! "  said  Susan,  reproachfully. 

"  To  you,  perhaps ;  but  I  was  not  born  to  be  a  slave." 

"  But  you  were  born  to  love,"  said  Susan. 

"  Love  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  exclaimed  Helen.  "  If 
be  loved  me,  he  would  let  me  be  free." 

"  And  lie  will  let  you  be  free  in  all  essentials,"  continued 
Susan,  "  I  am  sure  of  it ;  but," — she  finished  the  sentence 
hurriedly — "  I  think,  if  you  had  considered  the  matter,  you 


IYOKS.  251 

would  scarcely  have  waited  for  him  to  ask  the  favour ;  you 
would  rather  have  suggested  it." 

Helen  Mas  struck  hy  her  cousin's  tone,  and  as  the 
colour  crimsoned  her  cheeks,  she  said,  "  You  think  me  un- 
dignified, then  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  kind  of  dancing  is  undignified,"  replied 
Susan. 

Helen  pouted,  and  was  silent. 
*     Susan  continued  eagerly  :  "  But  surely,  it  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  my  opinion,  or  of  any  other  person's,  Helen.     If  Mr. 
Egerton  wishes  it " 

"  You  think  I  ought  to  give  in,"  said  Helen,  coldlv. 

"  I  can't  doubt  for  a  moment." 

"  But  you  are  not  in  my  place  ;  you  don't  know  all  that 
has  passed." 

"Of  course,  I  judge  only  for  myself;  but,  Helen," — Su- 
san's voice  grew  tremulous  in  its  earnestness, — "  it  seems  to 
me — I  have  never  been  loved  as  you  are — but  I  think  that 
if  I  were,  it  would  be  my  greatest  pleasure  to  yield ;  that  it 
would  be  no  yielding,  in  fact,  only  the  carrying  out  of  my 
own  will,  because  there  could  only  be  one  heart." 

Helen  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  in  a  low  voice  she 
said,  "  I '.  might  be  so  with  you." 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  Susan's  reply.  Mrs. 
Graham  was  come  to  hurry  Helen,  and,  as  she  entered,  Su- 
san, without  saying  anything  more,  went  away. 

"You  must  go,  my  love,'  said  Mrs.  Graham  to  Helen; 
"Mr.  Egerton  will  be  tired  of  waiting,  and  it  won't  do  to 
keep  him." 

Helen's  pride  rebelled  secretly  against  the  order  ;  but 
there  was  something  about  Mrs.  Graham  which  always  pre- 
vented her  from  showing  temper  before  her. 

"  He  is  excessively  patient,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham ; 
"he  has  been  walking  up  and  down  the  sweep  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour." 


252  ivoks. 

"  It  won't  do  Lira  any  harm,"  said  Helen,  shortly. 

"  But  it  does  yourself  harm,  dear  child.  I  shall  scolu 
you  if  you  don't  learn  punctuality,  now  that  you  are  going 
to  have  a  house  of  your  own." 

Mrs.  Graham's  kiss  neutralised  the  quickness  of  her 
words ;  and  Helen,  softened,  as  she  always  was,  by  the  pecu- 
liar tenderness  of  manner  which  her  aunt  showed  towards 
her,  said,  whilst  she  looked  steadily  in  Mrs.  Graham's  face, 
"  Aunt  Fanny,  if  I  had  come  to  school  to  you,  I  should  have 
been  a  better  child." 

'•Never  too  late  to  mend,  dearest;  only  remember" — 
Mrs.  Graham's  tone  became  more  serious — "  it  may  some  day 
be  too  late  to  undo  the  consequences  of  not  having  mended 
before." 

"  I  am  not  Susan,"  said  Helen  ;  "  I  must  be  myself,  and 
people  must  take  me  as  I  am." 

"  But  you  can  be  your  best  self,  my  darling — your  truest, 
noblest  self ! " 

"  I  have  no  best  self.  I  am  wretched  and  good-for-noth- 
ing," exclaimed  Helen ;  and  she  sat  down,  and  leaned  her 
forehead  upon  her  hands. 

Mrs.  Graham  put  her  arm  round  her  fondly,  and  said, 
"  We  all  have  a  beet  self,  Helen.  If  we  had  not,  we  should 
be  demons  instead  of  human  beings.  And  your  best  self 
has  great  capabilities,  and  will,  through  God's  help,  lead  you 
above  all  the  pettiness  and  irritation  of  this  weary  life,  if 
only  you  will  listen  to  it,  and  listen  to  Claude,  who  will 
assist  you  in  strengthening  and  perfecting  it." 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  good,  but  he  is  impatient ; "  and  Helen 
started  up,  and  arranged  the  folds  of  her  riding  habit. 

"  And  somebody  likes  to  make  him  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham, half  severely,  half  playfully. 

';  Aunt  Fanny,  you  were  born  under  a  favourable  con- 
junction of  the  planets  ;  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  a 
stoi*my  influence  always  at  work  upon  you." 


ivoes.  253 

Mrs.  Graham  considered  an  instant ;  then  she  said, 
"  The  stormiest  natures  may  at  last  become  the  calmest,  from 
the  very  force  exercised  to  control  them.  Helen,  dearest, 
you  have  great  power  of  will ;  don't  let  it  he  used  only  to 
throw  away  happiness." 

Helen  made  no  reply,  hut  giving  her  .uint  a  parting  kiss, 
hurried  down  stairs. 

Claude  and  Helen  rode  in  silence  until  they  had  passed 
the  Lodge  at  Ivors,  and  were  in  sight  of  the  house ;  then 
Helen  said,  *'  It  was  very  naughty  in  me,  Claude,  to  keep 
you  waiting  so  long." 

Claude  replied,  "  It  does  n't  signify  ;  we  shall  he  at  home 
in  time."     And  they  rode  on  again. 

Claude  assisted  Helen  to  dismount,  as  usual ;  hut  he  was 
excessively  cold  in  his  manner,  and,  instead  of  following  her 
into  the  house,  went  to  the  stables,  under  pretence  of  wish- 
ing to  speak  to  one  of  the  grooms. 

Helen  was  met  by  Lady  Augusta  and  Miss  Manners. 

"  Just  returned,  my  love  %  That  is  very  right.  I  was 
afraid  you  would  be  tempted  to  stay  out  late." 

"  '  The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul '  are  so  se- 
du  live,"  observed  Miss  Manners. 

"  It  is  very  cold,"  said  Helen  ;  and  she  ran  up  the  stairs, 
stumbling  on  her  riding  habit,  and  dropping  her  whip  ;  and, 
hurrying  to  her  own  room,  bolted  the  door,  and  wrote  a  lit- 
tle note,  which  was  taken  to  Claude  as  he  was  dressing  for 
dinner. 

"I  have  been  very  wrong,  and  am  very  unhappy;  can 
you  forgive  me]  I  have  such  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  my- 
self!    but  of  course  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish. — H.  C." 

Helen  wondered,  when  she  met  Claude  again,  that  thr<-*> 
was  still  a  shade  of  constraint  in  his  manner. 

But  she  was  not  in  love.     He  was. 


25-t  IVORS. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

Where  was  the  Admiral  all  this  time?  IL  with  a  violent 
attack  of  feverish  influenza,  ending,  as  all  his  ailments  did, 
with  a  fit  of  the  gout.  Barnes,  who  knew  more  about  his 
master  and  his  master's  feelings  than  he  chooe  to  let  the 
world  discover,  attributed  it  openly  to  a  sharp  blast,  which 
the  Admiral  had  encountered  at  a  particular  angle  of  the 
shrubbery ;  in  private  conversation  with  his  intimate  friend, 
the  housekeeper,  he  decided  that  the  disease  was  mental. 
"  On  the  nerves,  Mrs.  Euston,  on  the  nerves,  you  may  depend 
upon  it ;  the  Admiral  takes  to  his  bed  for  comfort.  The 
wind  has  set  in  contrary,  and  he  can't  make  head  against  it. 
You'll  see  if  I'm  not  right.  If  I  a'n't,  why  isn't  Mr.  Eger- 
ton  here  as  he  used  to  be  ?  " 

That  was  a  strange  fact.  Claude,  who  used  to  be  at  the 
Lodge  at  least  twice  a  week,  and  was  never  denied  admit- 
tance except  on  some  urgent  necessity,  had  called  five  times 
within  the  last  three  weeks,  and  each  time  been  informed 
that  the  Admiral  was  keeping  his  room,  and  could  not  see 
any  one. 

The  answer  was  true  enough  to  satisfy  the  old  man's 
conscience.  He  was  very  unwell,  and  not  in  a  state  to  bear 
any  interview  which  might  excite  or  vex  him  ;  but  six  weeks 
before,  even  if  he  had  been  unable  to  see  Claude,  he  would 
at  least  have  sent  him  some  affectionate  message.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  kind  now, — not  even  any  notice  of  the 
letter  which  Claude  had  sent,  detailing  the  circumstances  of 
his  engagement,  confessing  that,  at  first  sight,  the  Admiral 
might  have  cause  to  think  him  hasty,  and  frankly  owning 
that  the  fascination  which  had  at  last  subdued  him  was 
greater  than  he  had  been  at  all  prepared  for,  and  entreating, 

it  earnestly,  that  the  friend,  whose   good  opinion  was  so 


ivoes.  255 

dear  to  him,  would  endeavour  to  overcome  any  prejudice  lie 
might  entertain,  and  consider  the  case  as  one  in  which 
Claude's  happiness  was  most  deeply  interested. 

It  was  not  in  human  .  nature  to  bear  this  silence 
without  being  hurt.  Claude's  feelings  were  wounded  deep- 
ly. He  felt  that  both  Helen  and  himself  wtre  treated 
unjustly.  It  was  scarcely  pride.  Claude  loved  his  old 
friend  too  sincerely  to  be  proud.  He  was  willing  to  hu- 
niour  him  in  indifferent  matters,  and  to  be  treated  as  a  boy 
even,  if  it  suited  the  Admiral's  whim.  So  large  a  debt  of 
gratitude  was  due  on  his  part,  that  no  ordinary  sacrifice 
would  have  been  considered  too  great,  if  it  were  to  give  the 
Admiral  pleasure.  But  Claude  could  never  sacrifice  his  in- 
dependence. He  had  chosen,  as  he  thought,  wisely,  for  his 
own  happiness ;  and  now  Helen's  feelings  were  involved  as 
well  as  his  own.  For  her  sake  he  considered  himself  bound 
to  demand  courtesy  and  kindness,  if  not  full  approbation. 
Lady  Augusta  had  already  made  some  uncomfortable  re- 
marks upon  the  Admiral's  behaviour.  Miss  Manners  was 
quite  severe  upon  him ;  and  Lady  Louisa,  who  had  a  most 
unhappy  knack  of  finding  out  whatever  did  not  concern  her, 
and  then  turning  her  discoveries  to  a  painful  use,  had  more 
than  once  given  hints  as  to  the  probable  cause  of  this  extra- 
ordinary conduct,  attributing  it  to  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham ;  which  irritated  Claude,  and  made  his  defence  of  his 
friends  more  prejudicial  to  their  interest  than  silence. 

It  was  after  having  endured  some  such  inuendoes,  that  he 
set  forth  for  the  Lodge  the  day  after  his  ride  with  Helen,  de- 
termined to  insist,  at  all  hazards,  upon  seeing  the  Admiral, 
and  forcing  him  to  look  more  favourably  upon  a  state  of 
affairs  which  at  any  rate  it  was  too  late  now  to  alter.  If 
they  could  only  meet,  Claude  was  certain  that  all  would  be  • 
well.  The  Admiral  was  never  proof  against  Claude's  affec- 
tionate candour;  and  in   whatever  little  quarrels  they  had 


256  ivoks. 

hitherto  had,  Claude  was  always  in  the  end  the  conqueroi 
Perhaps  it  was  the  knowledge  of  this  which  now  made  the 
Admiral  so  shy  of  admitting  him  to  his  presence. 

"  My  master  is  very  unwell  indeed  to-day,  sir,"  was 
Barnes'  reply  to  the  first  inquiry  made  by  Claude. 

Unsatisfactory  news  that  was  for  Claude,  and  he  had  not 
quite  the  spirits  to  meet  it.  He  had  come  because  he  always 
tried  to  keep  faith  with  himself,  as  well  as  with  other  peo- 
ple;  and  having  resolved  to  see  the  Admiral,  he  was  not 
going  to  be  a  coward,  and  shrink  from  his  engagement.  But 
there  was  a  certain  misgiving  and  discomfort  at  the  bottom 
of  his  heart,  into  which  he  did  not  care  to  examine. 

Barnes  saw  the  change  in  his  countenance,  and,  attribut- 
ing it  to  anxiety,  assured  him  that  there  was  nothing  to 
make  him  uneasy ;  the  Admiral  had  not  slept  very  well ; 
there  had  been  a  mistake  made  in  his  medicine,  but  Mr. 
Conyers  was  going  to  send  him  some  colchicum ;  no  doubt 
he  would  be  much  better  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  But  I  wanted  to  see  him ;  I  came  over  on  purpose," 
said  Claude.     "  Is  he  out  of  his  room  1 " 

"  Just  talking  of  coming  into  the  library,  sir  ;  but  I  have 
been  trying  to  persuade  him  not." 

A  stili  greater  difficulty !  for  the  Admiral  was  fidgety 
about  seeing  any  one  in  his  bedroom,  as  Claude  knew  by  ex- 
perience. 

"  If  you  could  move  him  into  the  library,  it  might  give 
him  change ;  and  he  might  perhaps  allow  me  to  come  and 
help  him." 

"  Perhaps  so,  sir  ; "  but  Barnes  appeared  doubtful.  "  Do 
you  wish  me  to  tell  him  you  are  here  %  " 

"  Yes,  certainly."  Claude's  tone  was  rather  impatient. 
"  Say  I  have  walked  over  from  Ivors  on  purpose ;  and  that  I 
may  probably  be  going  to  London  very  soon,  so  that  I  am 
particularly  anxious  to  see  him." 


ivoes.  257 

Barnes  departed,  and  Claude  was  left  in  the  hall  to  medi- 
tate upon  the  approaching  interview. 

The  weight  upon  his  spirits  increased.  Helen's  image 
was  before  him,  lovely  and  fascinating,  and  the  glow  of  an 
overpowering  affection  kindled  his  eager  longing  to  justify 
himself  for  the  choice  he  had  made  ;  and  then  a  cold  doubt 
seemed  to  creep  into  his  veins,  and  stealthily  make  its  way 
till  it  glided  into  his  heart,  and  checked  its  rapid  pulsation, 
and  deadened  the  thrill  of  happiness  which  followed  the 
thought  that  she  was  his  by  her  own  promise,  her  own  vol- 
untary consent.  The  words  of  her  note  recurred  to  him,  in- 
terpreted by  the  candid,  self-accusing  tone  in  which  she  had 
afterwards  repeated  to  himself  the  reproaches  of  her  own 
conscience.  Surely,  it  was  all  he  could  wish.  He  had  never 
thought  her  faultless;  he  knew  she  was  not.  From  the  be- 
ginning he  had  looked  upon  her  as — 

"  A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

He  only  required  that  she  should  consent  to  be  trained ;  and 
she  did,  in  the  simplest,  humblest  way ;  no  sooner  offending, 
than  she  acknowledged  her  offence.  Why  was  he  not 
satisfied  ] 

Claude  reproached  himself;  he  dwelt  upon  Helen's 
charms, — repeating  them  to  himself  with  a  spirit  of  detail 
which  might  in  itself  have  given  cause  for  suspicion  that  all 
was  not  right  ;  for  love,  mutual,  trusting  love,  inquires  not 
why  it  loves :  and  by  the  time  Barnes  returned  with  a  half 
sulky  message  from  the  Admiral,  that  if  Mr.  Egerton  was 
going  to  London  so  soon,  he  supposed  he  had  hitter  see  him, 
<  laude  had  reached  a  state  as  little  resembling  the  enthusi- 
asm of  an  all-sufficing  reciprocated  affectioni,  as  the  pale 
gleam  of  a  November  day  resembles  the  glowing  sunshine 
of  July. 


258  ivors. 

It  was  not  a  fortunate  mood  for  his  meeting  with  the  Ad- 
miral ;  and  the  old  man's  chilling  welcome  was  as  freezing 
to  Claude  as  his  own  thoughts.  "  Well,  Claude  !  how  are 
you  ?  You've  called  a  good  many  times,  and  I  have  n't  seen 
you ;  hut  I  have  had  a  hard  hout  of  it,  what  with  cold  and 
gout ;  and  it's  best  to  keep  to  oneself  at  those  times." 

"  I  hoped,  sir,  you  might  have  made  an  exception  in  my 
favour.     I  was  very  anxious  to  see  you." 

Claude  had  no  moral  cowardice  in  his  composition,  and 
was  determined  to  enter  upon  the  unwelcome  subject  at  once. 

"Anxious  to  see  me,  were  you?  Perhaps  that  was  more 
than  I  was  to  see  you  ; "  and  the  Admiral  laughed  shortly, 
and  added:  "You  had  best  learn  to  speak  out,  Claude. 
There  has  not  been  much  anxiety  to  see  me,  I'll  warrant." 

"  I  never  say  what  I  don't  mean,  sir,"  replied  Claude, 
proudly ;  and  then  checking  himself,  with  the  consciousness 
of  the  absurdity  of  taking  umbrage  at  his  old  friend's  pettish 
words.  "  I  did  want  to  see  you  very  much ;  especially  as 
you  have  not  written  to  me." 

"  What !  you  thought  I  was  going  to  send  a  letter  of 
congratulation !     I  leave  that  to  your  friends  at  Ivors." 

"  I  have  no  friends,  sir,  whose  congratulations  I  should 
value  like  your  own.  Not  that  I  expected  them  on  the 
present  occasion.  I  knew  I  must  vex  you.  But  I  hoped 
that,  considering  the  matter  only  regards  myself,  you 
might  have  brought  yourself  to  look  upon  it  a  little  more 
favourably." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Claude.  The  matter  is  not  one 
which  only  concerns  yourself.  It's  what  all  men  say  when 
they  are  in  love, — and  greater  nonsense  there  can't  be. 
Why!  marriages!  they  concern  the  whole  world,  present 
and  future.  How  do  you  and  I  know  that  we  are  n't  suffer- 
ing now  for  the  follies  of  our  fathers'  fathers,  back  to 
Noah  % " 


iyoes.  250 

Claude  could  not  refrain  from  a  smile ;  and  the  Admiral 
went  on  :  "  You  may  laugh  ;  let  him  laugh  who  wins.  Try 
your  bonny  lady  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  then  come  and 
Bee  whether  you  won't  be  inclined  to  laugh  at  the  other  side 
of  your  mouth."  Claude  half  started  from  his  seat ;  but  the 
Admiral,  maliciously  pleased  to  have  touched  him,  laid  his 
stick  across  him,  and  said,  "  Eh  %  restive  1 " — and  Claude 
threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  biting  his  lip  till  it  gave 
him  pain,  as  the  Admiral  mercilessly  continued  :  "  Doubtless 
you've  much  to  say  for  yourself.  What  man  ever  did  a  fool- 
ish thing,  who  had  n't  ?  " 

"  I  don't  grant,  sir,  that  it  is  a  foolish  thing,"  exclaimed 
Claude.  "I  am  and  must  be  the  best  judge  of  my  own 
heart,  and  I  can  suffer  no  person  to  interfere  with  me  upon 
such  a  point." 

"  No  interference,  because  you  are  in  love !  Why,  man  ! 
there  needs  a  new  world  to  contain  the  fools  who  have  had 
that  excuse  for  the  sins  and  miseries  they  have  brought  into 
this  one.  I  never  heard  of  a  planet  yet  that  was  large 
enough  to  hold  them." 

"  At  any  rate,  the  deed  is  done,"  said  Claude,  shortly. 

"  Aye,  there  it  is,  as  it  has  been  from  the  beginning ! 
Follow  your  will  first ;  and  then  say,  it  can't  be  helped,  so 
make  the  best  of  it." 

"Il  seems  the  only  way  to  take  the  consequences  of  our 
actions,"  replied  Claude ;  "  and  I  am  quite  willing  to  abide 
by  mine."     The  accent  on  "  quite  "  was  a  little  faint. 

The  Admiral  caught  up  his  words:  "Well  enough  to 
say,  Claude !  But,  take  my  word  for  it,  it's  an  unsafe  rule. 
Bearing  the  consequences  of  our  misdeeds  won't  do  away 
with  the  misdeeds  themselves.  And  it"  a  man  rushes  into  a 
foolish  marriage  with  his  eyes  open,  be  may  he  as  brave  as 
Hercules  in  bearing  the  troubles  it  brings,  but  he's  not  one 
whit  less  a  countable  for  the  first  false  step." 


260  IVOK6. 

"  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  I  am  about  to  make  a  false  step, 
sir,"  said  Claude,  proudly. 

The  Admiral  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  was  silent ;  and 
( 'hiude  continued  in  the  same  tone  :  "  It  has  been  my  wish, 
sir.  always,  that  when  I  did  marry,  my  wife  should  be  ap- 
proved by  yon.  I  have  hoped  that  she  might  add  to  your 
happiness  as  well  as  my  own,  for  she  would  always  be  taught 
to  love  and  venerate  you ;  but  Avith  this  unfortunate  preju- 
dice  " 

"  Prejudice,  man !  why  it's  knowledge,  fact !  Haven't 
I  known  the  girl  from  her  babyhood  %  " 

"  Very  different  knowledge  that,  sir,  from  the  intimate 
acquaintance  of " 

"  A  fellow  who's  in  love  !  "  exclaimed  the  Admiral.  "  As 
well  send  a  blind  man  into  a  picture  gallery,  and  take  his 
account  of  its  beauties.  But  go  on — go  on — say  what  you 
can  for  your  fair  lady." 

"I  say  nothing,  sir,"  said  Claude  very  coldly;  "you 
must  forgive  me  for  observing,  that  it  is  useless  to  argue 
against  prejudice." 

His  manner  a  little  alarmed  the  Admiral,  who,  with  all 
his  testiness  and  dictatorial  habits,  knew,  by  experience,  that 
it  was  possible  to  provoke  Claude  too  far.  He  softened  his 
tone  a  little,  and  said:  "My  good  friend,  you  are  taking  up 
the  cudgels  when  there's  no  need ;  what  is  the  matter  to  me, 
do  you  think  ?     I  am  not  going  to  marry  the  girl." 

"  I  should  almost  have  imagined  that  you  were,  sir,  by 
the  thought  you  bestow1  upon  her,"  was  Claude's  reply. 

"  Up  in  the  clouds,  I  see  !  Well !  natural  enough,  per- 
haps. I  was  mainly  taken  with  a  pretty  face  myself,  when 
I  was  a  young  man  ;  taken  only  for  a  time,  though,  Claude, 
— remember  that, — just  enough  to  make  me  take  a  dance 
with  her,  and  say  civil  things  ;  but  when  it  came  to  a  ques- 
tion of   marriage" — the   Admiral's   voice  changed; — "but 


iyoiis.  2(31 

we  won't  talk  of  that.  It  has  been  my  prayer  for  many  a 
day  that  you  might  have  a  right  judgment  in  the  matter  ; 
since  it  has  been  God's  Will  to  deny  me,  His  Will  he  done." 
The  accent  of  reverent  yet  hitter  disappointment  went 
more  to  Claude's  heart  than  all  the  Admiral's  hasty  re- 
proaches. He  left  his  chair,  drew  near  the  old  man,  and 
said  gently,  and  with  the  deference  of  a  son  addressing  a 
father :  "  My  dear,  dear  sir,  if  you  knew  how  deeply,  how 
earnestly,  I  have  wished  to  please  you,  in  this  and  in  all 
other  of  the  g*reat  events  of  my  life !  It  has  been  the  one 
bitter  drop  in  my  cup  of  happiness,  that  I  knew  it  would 
give  you  pain." 

The  Admiral's  lip  quivered. 

"  You  will  scarcely  believe  me,"  continued  Claude.  "  I 
know  that  all  men  in  love  are  thought  selfish  ;  and  doubtless 
that  is  their  great  temptation.  I  won't  put  myself  above 
other  men.  I  have  loved,  I  do  love  passionately,  blindly  per- 
haps. I  would  put  aside  all  attempts  to  form  a  judgment  of 
my  conduct,  or  an  excuse  for  it ;  but  this  I  will  say  for  my- 
self, that  the  one  earnest  petition  which  I  have  offered  since 
my  happiness  was  secured,  has  been  that  it  might  never  ren- 
der me  forgetful  of  what  I  owe  my  friends." 

"  Do  you  think,  Claude,  I  should  care  if  I  thought  your 
happiness  was  secured '?"  said  the  Admiral,  reproachfully  ; 
and  then  correcting  himself,  he  added,  "or,  perhaps,  I  Blight 
care;  perhaps  I  have  been  an  idiot;  perhaps  I  have  sat  by 
myself,  thinking, — lonely  folks  will  think, — and  letting  my- 
i'ancy  what  I  should  most  like,  forgetting  that  there  are 
few  enough  years  remaining  forme  to  see  cither  likes  or  dis- 
likes. Let  it  be!  I  was  a  weak  old  man,  and  God  has  pun- 
ished me  for  building  castles  for  this  world,  when  I  should 
have  been  looking  out  for  His  City  in  the  next.  But  it 
would  all  be  nothing,  Claude,  it  would  all  go,  if  I  could  say 
to  myself,  my  hoy  has  got  a  wife  who  will  make  his  home 


262  ivoks. 

happy,  and  keep  him  up  to  his  duty  to  his  Maker  and  his 
country." 

"  And  Helen  will,  sir ;  she  has  spirit,  feeling,  the  most 
hearty  wish  to  do  right,  the  most  entire  appreciation  of 
goodness." 

"But  has  she  practice,  man?  has  she  practice?" 

"  She  is  so  young,  she  has  never  had  the  opportunity ; 
she  is  scarcely  out  of  the  school-room,"  replied  Claude. 

"  And  wants  a  governess  still !  "  exclaimed  the  Admiral, 
shaking  his  head.     "  Oh  !  Claude,  Claude !  " 

"  She  will  be  the  more  easily  trained,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  the  more  easily  spoilt,"  replied  the  Admiral; 
"  though  it's  too  late,  Claude,  yet  take  the  word  of  one  who 
has  seen  many  more  things  in  his  day  than  you  have. 
There's  no  greater  blunder  a  man  can  commit,  than  that  of 
taking  a  woman  for  his  wife  in  the  hope  of  training  her. 
She  may  be  trained,  I  grant  it ;  God  will  train  her,  as  He 
does  all  of  us,  by  trouble  and  sorrow  ;  but  before  the  work 
is  done,  there  may  be  priceless  souls,  children  and  servants, 
injured,  possibly  even  lost  for  Eternity,  because  she  was  per- 
suaded to  take  upon  herself  duties  for  which  she  was  n't  fit." 

"  Sensible  men  and  women  would  never  venture  to  marry 
according  to  that  argument,  sir,"  said  Claude  ;  "  they  would 
never  consider  themselves  fit  for  such  responsibilities." 

"Just  as  well,  perhaps,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  if  they 
didn't,"  replied  the  Admiral;  "but  the  world  must  go  on. 
and  will  go  on,  its  own  way,  in  spite  of  prudence  and  coni- 
moD  sense.  As  to  my  argument,  Claude,  it  does  n't  go  as  far 
as  you  make  it.  People  can't  try  experiments  beforehand  to 
see  if  their  wives  are  fit  to  manage  a  house  and  bring  up 
children  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  they  can  do.  They  can  see 
how  the  woman  they  are  thinking  about  is  doing  the  duties 
which  are  set  before  her.  That  is  God's  way  with  us ;  if 
we  do  one  thing  well,  He  sets  us  upon  something  higher ;  if 


ivoes.  203 

we  don't,  He  lets  us  stand  still,  and  in  the  end  sink  lower. 
A  good  sister  and  a  good  daughter  is  ready  to  be  a  good 
wife,  though  she  has  never  tried  the  duties  of  one ;  hut 
there's  no  taking  a  leap  in  virtue.  A  woman  won't  be  a 
selfish  sawney  one  minute,  and  a  hearty,  pains-taking  mis- 
tress of  a  family  the  next." 

"  You  forget  the  influence  of  love,  sir,"  said  Claude. 

The  Admiral  smiled  a  little  sarcastically.  "  I  am  not 
likely  to  do  that,  Claude,  when  I  am  talking  to  a  young  man 
engaged  to  be"  married.  Trust  to  love  if  you  will ;  but  re- 
member, there's  many  a  thing  besides  poverty,  which,  when 
it  peeps  in  at  the  door,  sends  love  flying  out  of  the  window. 
Temper,  and  indolence,  and  selfishness,  they  all  work ;  and 
if  it's  a  struggle  between  them,  as  it's  sure  to  be  if  the 
woman  isn't  well  tutored  beforehand,  why,  they'll  get  the 
victory  over  love." 

Claude  was  silent  for  some  seconds ;  then  he  said,  with 
evident  effort,  "  I  must  ask  some  day,  sir,  to  bring  Helen 
with  me  here,  that  you  may  judge  for  yourself  that  I  have 
not  quite  cause  to  fear  all  the  evils  you  prognosticate  for 
me." 

"Bring  her,  yes,  bring  her  if  you  will,  but  don't  think 
I  pretend  to  prognosticate  for  you.  Men  are  n't  all  made  alike, 
and  perchance  you  may  like  what  I  should  n't.  And  as  for 
the  girl,  why,  I  grant  you  she's  a  pretty  girl,  and  a  lady, 
and  Frances  Graham's  niece,  which  is  the  best  I  can  say  for 
her;  and  if  you  were  to  take  her  away  from  the  old  woman 
at  Ivors,  and  send  her  to  school  to  her  aunt  for  the  next  five 
yc:i  is,  I  won't  say  but  that  at  the  end  of  that  time  she  might  be 
good  for  something ;  not,  perhaps,  good  enough  for  your  wife  ; 
— hut  that's  the  old  feeling,  Claude ;  you'll  forgive  it,  my 
good  fellow,  you'll  forgive  it." 

Claude  held  the  Admiral's  hand  affectionately.     "Iain 

very  grateful  to  you,  sir — much   more  than  you  may  think. 
12 


2G4  ivoks. 

It  has  been  a  great  weight  on  my  heart  not  to  have  seen 
you." 

"  And  on  mine  too,  perhaps,  Claude ;  and  on  my  eon- 
science  besides,  perchance.  It's  wrong  to  build  castles  ;  I 
ought  to  have  known  it ;  but  there — God  bless  you,  my  boy, 
and  give  you  happiness  in  your  own  way,  since  you  wouldn't 
have  it  in  mine." 

A  tear  stood  in  Claude's  eye,  a  tear  of  sympathy  for  that 
bygone  phantom  of  early  love  which  haunted  the  old  man's 
loneliness,  and  seemed  to  cast  its  spell  upon  all  he  thought, 
or  felt,  or  did. 

He  went  back  to  Ivors  comforted ;  but  it  was  with  the 
thought  of  the  Admiral,  not  of  Helen. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

Yet  Helen  did  give  Claude  comfort  on  that  day,  and  on 
many  ensuing  days.  It  seemed  as  if  the  childish  burst  of 
petulant  rebellion  against  his  wishes,  to  which  she  had  given 
way,  had  worked  for  good  in  humbling  and  softening  her  ; 
or  perhaps  Mrs.  Graham's  short  warning  and  Susan's  words 
had  touched  her  more  than  she  dared  acknowledge.  The 
good  fit  lasted  surprisingly  long,  and  produced  astonishing 
effects.  It  made  her  careful  and  charitable  in  expressing  her 
opinions  of  the  "  aborigines,"  and  induced  her  sometimes  to 
check  Maurice  in  the  contemptuous  tone  which  he  had  learned 
to  adopt  about  all  persons  found  without  the  charmed  circle 
of  Ivors.  She  consulted  Claude,  and  deferred  to  his  taste. 
She  read  his  books,  and  discussed  them  with  him.  She 
looked  over  his  plans  of  improvement  at  Helmsley,  and  made 
some  very  good  suggestions  of  her  own.  There  were  no 
clouds,  or  fits  of  listlessness ;  and  she  even  went  so  far  in 


ivoks.  265 

self-denial  and  self-discipline,  as  to  consent  to  take  a  lesson 
in  the  elements  of  geology  from  Miss  Manners,  so  that  she 
might  be  able  to  share  one  of  Claude's  favourite  subjects  of 
inquiry,  if,  as  had  been  proposed,  they  should  determine  upon 
going  abroad  for  their  wedding  tour. 

The  preparations  for  the  ball  were  progressing.  Claude 
said  nothing  more  about  his  journey  to  London  ;  Helen  never 
alluded  to  her  implied  promise  of  consulting  his  wish  about 
dancing.  It  seemed  as  if  both  were  aware  that  the  topics 
were  dangerous,  and  would  bring  back  uncomfortable  recol- 
lections. This  was  not  quite  like  the  hearty  reconciliation 
after  a  true  lovers'  quarrel ;  but  then  they  were  going  on  so 
smoothly,  it  seemed  unnecessary  to  inquire  whether  the 
ground  beneath  their  feet  were  hollow. 

About  a  week  before  the  ball  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the 
door,  just  as  all  were  lingering  at  the  luncheon  table.  Helen 
had  been  in  particularly  good  spirits,  laughing  with  Lady 
Louisa  over  a  new  novel,  and  inducing  Claude  to  join  with 
her.  Helen's  criticisms  were  generally  very  apt,  and  whether 
Claude  always  approved  them  or  not,  he  was  seldom  inclined 
to  hold  out  an  argument  against  her.  Miss  Manners  stood 
by  with  rather  a  frowning  brow,  considering  light  literature 
beneath  the  attention  of  beings  who  had  the  power  of  un- 
derstanding science.  As  Helen  sometimes  said,  her  mental 
feast  was  always  the^cee  de  resistance. 

"Now,  then,  Miss  Manners," — exclaimed  Maurice,  slow- 
ly rising  from  the  table,  and  standing  in  front  of  the  fire  so 
as  to  secure  the  largest  portion  to  himself,  whilst  at  the  same 
time  he  raised  his  eye-glass  and  looked  towards  the  window, 
— "here  is  an  opportunity  lor  congeniality.  My  cousin  Su- 
san !  the  most  historical,  geological,  mineralogical,  astro- 
nomical  " 

"And  practical,"  added  Claude. 

"Thank  you; — as  Mr.  Egerton  observes  -and  practical 


2GG  ivoks. 

young  lady  in  England.  At  least  if  she  is  not,  she  ought 
to  be." 

"  Young  ladies  educated  by  mammas  always  are  pat- 
terns," said  Lady  Louisa. 

"  Or  warnings,"  added  Maurice.  "Not  that  I  say  so  of 
Susan ;  forbid  it,  Minerva,  Juno,  Diana,  Vesta,  and  all  the 
goddesses  whose  virtues  are  concentrated  in  the  character  of 
my  Aunt  Fanny !  " 

Miss  Manners  laughed  ;  for  her,  heartily.  Generally 
speaking,  her  laugh  was  rather  a  sepulchral  echo,  ringing 
through  a  hollow  cavern.  Yet  she  corrected  him:  "You 
forget,  Maurice ;  they  were  the  Grecian  deities  who  would 
have  been  propitious  to  a  woman  of  such  a  cultivated  mind 
as  Mrs.  Graham, — Athene,  Hera,  Artemis " 

"  Mrs.  and  the  Miss  Grahams  in  the  drawing-room,  my 
lady,"  announced  a  footman,  suddenly  bursting  in  upon  Miss 
Manners'  list  of  Greek  goddesses. 

"Lady  Augusta  is  not  here,"  was  Helen's  quick  reply. 
She  stood  as  though  she  did  not  intend  to  obey  the  summons 
herself. 

"  You  are  going,  Helen,  are  n't  you  ?  "  asked  Claude, 
with  a  little  surprise  in  his  tone. 

"  I  don't  know.     Mamma  will  be  there." 

"  But  won't  your  aunt  think  it  unkind  ?  " 

"  And  won't  Miss  Graham  want  you  ?  "  said  Lady  Louisa. 

"  '  Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared, ' 
The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us, — 0,  and  is  all  forgot?  '" 

Helen  looked  impatient.     "  Susan  is  not  so  foolish  as  tc 
want  me,  when  she  knows  I  am  otherwise  engaged." 
•■  Xot  if  you  are  engaged,"  said  Claude. 
"  I  thought  I  was  going  with  you  for  a  ride." 


ivors.  267 

"  I  thought  so  too  ;  but  there  may  be  time  for  both." 

"  And  no  disappointment  on  either  side,"  added  Lady 
Louisa,  a  little  maliciously.  "I  know  Mr.  Egerton  is  a 
warm  admirer  of  Mrs.  Graham,  to  say  nothing  of  her 
daughter." 

Helen  was  not  inclined  just  then  to  hear  that  he  was  a 
warm  admirer  of  any  one.  She  waited  for  some  seconds,  in 
which  interval  Maurice  and  Miss  Manners  went  away,  per- 
haps hoping  that  Lady  Louisa  would  do  the  same ;  but  find- 
ing this  not  likely  to  be  the  case,  she  said,  "  You  had  better 
go,  Claude,  and  we  can  give  up  the  ride." 

"  Impossible !  "   said  Claude. 

"  I  don't  see  that ;  if  you  are  so  anxious  to  talk  to  my 
aunt." 

"  I  can't  go,  if  you  don't,"  replied  Claude.  "  Every  one 
will  be  asking  for  you." 

"  Say  I  am  tired,  engaged,  cold ; "  and  Helen  knelt  down 
before  the  fire  to  warm  herself. 

"  Helen !  how  can  you  be  so  perverse  ? "  exclaimed 
Claude,  half  amused,  and  half  vexed.  "  Come,  you  really 
must ;  "   and  he  touched  her  arm. 

Lady  Louisa  laughed.     "  Practising  betimes  : 

"  '  For  I  am  he,  am  born  to  tame  you,  Kate  ; 
And  bring  you  from  a  wild-cat  to  a  Kate 
Conform  ible,  as  other  household  Kates.' " 

"I  am  not  going,"  said  Helen,  in  a  more  determined 
tone  than  she  had  used  before:  "or,  if  I  do  go,  I  sha'n't 
ride." 

"You  will  think  better  of  it  presently,"  said  Claude, 
rather  shortly. 

"Not  at  all  likely ;  we  certainly  can't  do  both." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  You  could  have  seen  your 
aunt,  made  your  excuses,  and  dressed  yourself  for  your  ride, 


268  ivoks. 

whilst  we  have  been  talking  about  it."  There  might  have 
been  something  a  little  dictatorial  in  Claude's  tone,  and 
Helen's  pouting  lip  showed  that  it  aggravated  her. 

Lady  Louisa  laughed  again.     "  Acted  to  the  very  life ! 

"  '  I  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own ; 

She  is  my  goods,  my  chattels  ;  she  is  my  house  ; 
My  household  stuff,  my  field,  my  barn, 
My  horse,  my  os,  my  ass,  my  auythiug." 

Claude  commanded  his  temper,  but  it  was  with  the  ut- 
most difficulty.  He  merely  said :  "  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  so 
well  understands  the  part  of  Petruchio,  that  I  shall  leave 
her  to  bring  Kate  to  reason  ; "  and  he  walked  to  the  further 
end  of  the  room. 

Lady  Lousia,  however,  was  a  coward,  as  most  trouble- 
some and  meddling  persons  are,  and  when  she  saw  that  she 
had  roused  the  lion,  she  hastened  to  escape.  "  It  is  a  very 
knotty  point  to  settle,"  she  said ;  "  perhaps  I  had  better 
leave  it.     Shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Graham  you  are  coming "? " 

No  reply  was  vouchsafed.  Lady  Louisa  departed,  and 
Helen  rang  the  bell. 

"  Are  you  going  to  order  the  horses  1 "  asked  Claude. 
"  We  must  make  up  our  minds  what  we  intend  to  do." 

"  I  thought  you  had  decided,"  said  Helen.  She  watched 
for  the  opening  cf  the  door,  but  when  the  servant  came,  she 
would  not  speak. 

"Shall  we  say  half  an  hour  from  this  time?"  asked 
Claude.  Interpreting  Helen's  silence  for  assent,  he  gave  his 
order  to  saddle  the  horses  and  brimr  them  round  in  half  an 
hour. 

Helen  looked  up  impatiently.  "They  need  not  be 
brought  round ;  we  will  send  for  them  if  we  want  them." 
The  servant  left  the  room. 

Claude's  closely  compressed  lips  told  a  tale  of  struggling 


ivoes.  .  209 

anger.  Helen  bent  over  the  fire.  Presently  Claude  said : 
"  Are  you  going  to  the  drawing-room  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,  presently.*' 

"  Shall  I  give  any  message  to  your  aunt  for  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no ;  I  can  speak  for  myself." 

Claude  went  to  the  door,  but  turned  round  to  say,  in  a 
tone  of  marked  displeasure,  "  We  really  shall  be  too  late  for 
our  ride  if  you  delay,"' — an  observation  received  in  silence. 

It  was  a  fit  of  ill-temper  which  had  originated  in  a  mo- 
mentary feeling  of  perverseness  on  Helen's  part  at  having 
her  ride  delayed,  but  was  aggravated  into  a  storm  by  the 
foolish  dread  of  being  governed.  It  never  would  have  arisen 
where  there  was  true  love.  But  Helen's  undisciplined  feel- 
ings were  at  the  mercy  of  every  chance  observation: 

Persons  usually  have  some  image  of  themselves  in  their 
own  minds, — some  picture  which  they  hold  Up  before  the 
mirror  of  their  hearts,  and  which  they  believe  is  the  same 
seen  by  the  world.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  is  not  that 
which  they  actually  know  of  themselves  from  conscience  and 
self-examination, — it  is  a  flattering  likeness,  yet  sufficiently 
true  to  enable  them  to  look  at  themselves,  as  it  were,  apart 
from  themselves — to  become,  in  fact,  picturesque. 

Now,  the  very  commonest  characters  have  a  certain 
amount  of  picturesqueness  belonging  to  them,  when  their 
different  qualities  are  drawn  rut  and  put  in  right  juxtaposi- 
tion,— how  much  more,  then,  those  which  have  a  really  no- 
ble and  chivalrous  stamp ! 

II ilen  Clare  was  unquestionably  very  picturesque,  and, 
without  being  what  could  be  termed  vain,  she  was  aware  of 
it.  She  had  heard  of  her  impetuous  temperament,  her  ex- 
citability, imagination,  warmth  of  feeling,  from  infancy. 
"Such  a  dear,  impulsive,  variable  child!"  Lady  Augusta 
D8ed  to  call  lier,  whenever  the  impulses  and  variability  did 
not  affect  her  own  comfort;  and  the'worde  were  echoed  by 


270  IVOKS. 

admiring  friends,  until  Helen  bad  grown  up  with  the  idea 
that  these  characteristics  were,  if  not  actual  virtues,  at  least 
charms,  like  beauty  and  elegance.  There  was  no  attempt, 
therefore,  to  control  them.  They  were  to  her  like  the  clouds 
in  an  English  sky,  adding  brilliancy  to  the  landscape  from 
the  force  of  contrast.  And  Helen  was  right,  as  far  as  the 
world  was  concerned.  Persons  who  did  not  come  in  the 
way  of  the  clouds,  and  suffer  from  a  deluge  of  rain  in  con- 
sequence, thought  them  extremely  beautiful ;  but  it  was  very 
different  when  called  upon  to  live  in  perpetual  fear  of  them. 
Claude  was  just  beginning  to  discover  this.  It  was  one 
thing  to  look  upon  Helen  from  a  distance,  as  upon  a  dissolving 
view,  constantly  changing,  and  another  to  feel  that  his  en- 
joyment •  depended  upon  her,  and  that  however  great  it 
might  be,  he  coidd  not  be  certain  of  its  lasting  for  a  single 
hour. 

He  went  to  the  drawing-room,  more  really  cross  with 
Helen  than  he  had  ever  yet  been.  Mrs.  Graham  and  Isa- 
bella were  engrossed  by  Lady  Augusta  ;  Susan  was  talking 
to  Lady  Louisa  Stuart.  Claude  joined  the  latter,  not  from 
any  liking  to  Lady  Louisa,  but  to  avoid  the  risk  of  a  ques- 
tion from  Lady  Augusta  as  to  what  had  become  of  Helen. 

In  his  state  of  irritation  Susan's  conversation  was  very 
agreeable  to  him :  he  was  little  in  the  humour  for  wit  or  re- 
partee ;  and  Susan's  simplicity  kept  Lady  Louisa  tolerably 
well  in  order.  But  Claude  gave  only  a  half  attention  even  to 
his  own  words,  until  something  was  said  about  the  ball ;  and 
then  Lady  Louisa,  having  a  little  gossiping  pleasure  in  try- 
ing to  discover  whether  the  feeling  of  liking  between  Claude 
and  Susan  was  really  as  slight  as  it  appeared,  said,  "  We 
shall  see  you  here  before  that,  of  course,  Miss  Graham.  Your 
counsel  will  be  wanted  on  many  points,  as  it  was  for  the 
tableaux.    Mr.  Egerton,  I  am  sure  you  agree  with  me." 

Claude  readily  took-  up  the  suggestion  and  replied,  "  In- 


ivors.  271 

deed,  I  Lope  it  will  be  arranged  for  you  to  be  here  some  days 
before.  Helen  was  saying  only  the  other  day  that  you  would 
be  a  help  to  every  one." 

"  I  must  wait  to  be  asked,"  said  Susan ;  "  besides,  Lady 
Augusta  will  scarcely  want  help." 

"  But  Helen  may  want  comfort,"  said  Lady  Louisa,  "  if, 
as  report  says,  Mr.  Egerton  intends  to  betake  himself  to 
London." 

"  To  London  ?  Are  you  going  away,  then  ?  "  asked  Su- 
san, quickly. 

"  Possibly  ;  I  can't  say."  Claude's  manner  betrayed  that 
it  was  a  disagreeable  subject. 

Lady  Louisa,  however,  pursued  it.  "  We  must  remem- 
ber that  Mr.  Egerton  is  not  now  open  to  the  temptations 
which  beset  less  fortunate  mortals.  Having  obtained  a 
planet,  he  cares  not  to  look  upon  the  less  brilliant 

"  '  Earth-treading  stars  that  make  dark  heaven  li^ht.'  " 

"  Helen  will  be  dreadfully  vexed,"  said  Susan. 

Claude  smiled  gravely. 

"  You  should  use  your  eloquence,  and  persuade  him  for 
your  cousin's  sake,  Miso  Graham,"  said  Lady  Louisa. 

"  That  could  scarcely  be  of  any  use  if  Helen  has  failed," 

answered  Susan.      "But "  she  paused,  and  then  added, 

simply,  "  we  thought,  perhaps,  Mr.  Egerton,  that  you  could 
help  us,  and  I  am  afraid  you  won't  be  able  to  do  it,  if  you 


are  going  away. 


"Help  you?  In  what  way?  You  know  I  would  help 
you  to  the  utmost  in  any  way."     Claude's  tone  was  eager. 

Lady  Louisa  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  a  smile 
slightly  curled  her  lips. 

"It  is  a  very  matter-of-fact  way,"  observed  Susan. 
"Mamma  wants  Lady  Augusta  to  lend  us  her  magic  lan- 
thorn  for  our  children's  party  on  Wednesday,  and  we 
thought  you  could  teach  us  how  to  exhibit  i1  properly.* 


272  ivors. 

Perhaps  Claude  did  think  this  rather  a  matter-of-fact  way 
of  being  useful,  for  he  answered  as  if  he  was  thinking  upon 
something  else  :  "  It  is  not  a  difficult  thing ;  a  few  minutes 
will  put  you  in  the  way  of  managing  it." 

"  Magic  lanthorns  are  charming  things,  and  so  inno- 
cent ! "  observed  Lady  Louisa,  in  a  very  peculiar  tone. 
Claude's  keen  eyes  wrere  turned  to  her,  but  she  kept  her 
face  towards  the  door,  which  opened  at  that  moment,  and 
added,  "  Much  more  innocent  than  balls  ;  even  Helen  must 
own  that." 

Helen  had  just  entered,  and  Lady  Louisa  meant  her  to 
hear ;  but  she  went  up  to  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  My  love,  where  have  you  been  %  "  asked  Lady  Augusta. 
"  I  was  going  to  ring  for  you." 

"  I  have  been  in  the  dining-room,"  replied  Helen, 
bluntly.  "  Aunt  Fanny,  I  ought  to  have  come  before,  but  I 
didn't." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  the  non-excuse ;  I  dare  say 
you  were  talking." 

"  No,  thinking,"  said  Helen,  quickly.  She  looked  round 
for  Susan,  but  could  not  see  her  immediately.  Claude  was 
standing  before  her,  rather  bending  forward.  He  was  trying 
to  explain  something  connected  with  the  magic  lanthorn. 
Lady  Louisa  had  thrown  herself  into  a  different  position,  by 
which  she  could  watch  all  that  went  on. 

Susan  broke  off  the  conversation  directly  her  cousin  drew 
near,  but  Claude  chose  to  continue  it.  He  just  waited  for  the 
few  words  of  greeting  to  pass,  and  then  he  said  to  Susan, 
finishing  a  sentence  which  he  had  begun  :  "  I  could  call  and 
show  you  what  to  do,  some  evening,  if  you  like." 

Susan  hesitated,  and  remarked  that  it  was  cold  weather 
and  the  nights  were  dark,  and  the  distance  was  long. 

"  Not  more  than  two  miles,"  replied  Claude ;  "  and  I  am 
out  in  all  weathers.  If  I  came  to  you  early,  I  might  be  here 
again  by  seven,  in  time  for  dinner." 


ivors.  273 

"  Helen  will  think  it  very  unfair,"  said  Susan ;  just  then 
catching  a  most  uncomfortahle  expression  in  her  cousin's 
face. 

Helen  was  still  standing  near,  pretending  to  be  engrossed 
in  talking  to  Lady  Lousia  Stuart. 

Claude  addressed  her  at  once.  "  Helen,  I  am  talking  of 
going  over  to  Wingfield  one  afternoon  this  week,  in  order  to 
show  Miss  Graham  how  to  exhibit  a  magic  lanthorn.  If  you 
could  go  with  me,  we  might  have  the  room  darkened,  and 
try  it ;    and  ride  back  before  it  grew  late." 

"  Magic  lanthorns  are  shown  best  at  night,"  said  Helen, 
without  looking  at  him.  "  Mamma  objects  to  my  being  out 
after  half-past  five." 

"  Just  what  I  was  proposing  to  avoid,"  said  Claude. 

"  Oh !  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  misunderstood  ;  but  I  shall 
be  very  little  help  to  you." 

Claude  suddenly  turned  away,  and  went  up  to  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. Susan  looked  pained  ;  but  Lady  Louisa  only  laughed, 
and  m  irniured  to  Helen — 

"  '  I  3ee  a  woman  may  be  made  a  fool, 
Ii  she  had  not  the  spirit  to  resist' 

You  are  giving  him  a  lesson  in  time  Helen.  I  dare  say  he 
will  profit  by  it,  and  form  no  more  engagements  without  con- 
sulting you  first." 

This  speech  recalled  Helen  to  herself,  or  rather  it  touched 
her  pride.  She  replied,  half  speaking  to  Susan :  "  It  is  a 
matter  of  convenience ;  there  is  no  use  in  darkening  rooms, 
when,  if  you  wait  long  enough,  they  will  darken  them- 
selves." 

"But  it  would  be  no  trouble,"  said  Susan  ;  "and  we 
should  like  to  have  you  with  Mr.  Egerton  so  very  much." 

Helen  scarcely  seemed  to  hear.  Her  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  an  animated  discussion  which  was  going  on  be- 


274  ivoks. 

tween  Mrs.  Graham  and  Claude,  Lady  Augusta  and  Isabella 
occasionally  taking  part  in  it. 

"  A  very  urgent  request,  apparently,"  said  Lady  Louisa, 
smiling  ;  "  and  Mr.  Egerton  seems  well  inclined  to  grant 
it.  What  a  fortunate  person  Mrs.  Graham  is  to  have  such 
influence !  I  should  have  said,  if  I  had  been  asked,  that 
Mr.  Egerton  was  not  generally  very  yielding.  What  testi- 
mony does  your  experience  give,  Helen  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  fair  to  apply  to  Helen,"  said  Susan,  quickly. 
"  And  I  doubt  very  much  whether  Mr.  Egerton  is  so  inclined 
to  say  yes ;  I  know  what  mamma  is  asking."  She  rose  and 
walked  across  the  room,  and  Lady  Augusta  just  then  called 
Helen  also  to  the  conference.  Lady  Louisa  was  discom- 
fited ;  she  could  not  gratify  her  curiosity  by  following. 

"  Claude  has  been  tempted  to  make  an  engagement  for 
you,  my  love,"  said  Lady  Augusta  to  Helen,  as  she  drew 
near.     "  It  only  waits  your  ratification." 

Helen's  face  betokened  anything  but  willingness  to  ratify 
an  engagement  at  that  moment ;  and  Claude's  easy  manner 
changed  directly  she  approached,  and  he  became  very  stiff, 
and  seemed  half  inclined  to  contradict  Lady  Augusta's  words. 

"A  great  deal  has  been  promised  for  you,  Helen,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  Lady  Augusta  says  that  she  will  trust  you 
to  us  for  our  children's  party,  if  you  will  come ;  and  Mr. 
Egerton  has  offered  to  be  there,  and  exhibit  the  magic  lan- 
thorn  himself,  instead  of  running  the  risk  of  our  awk- 
wardness." 

"  Thank  you ;  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  don't  know  " 


Helen  turned  to  Lady  Augusta  with  mingled  surprise  and 
anger.     "  Mamma,  you  know  I  never  go  out  without  you." 

"  Aunt  Fanny  may  be  an  exception,  I  hope,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham,  kindly ;  "  but  I  should  not  think  of  troubling  you 
with  such  childishness,  if  there  were  not  something  to  offer 
you  to  make  the  evening  pleasant." 


ivors.  275 

There  was  a  little  constraint  in  the  tone,  and  Helen  for 
a  moment  felt  ashamed  of  herself.  Bnt  Claude  stood  by  with 
that  cold,  impassive  look,  -which  she  was  jus],  beginning  to 
understand,  and  she  became  more  irritated,  and  only  replied, 
shortly,  that  her  services  could  be  of  very  little  use.  she  was 
afraid  in  exhibiting  a  magic  lanthorn. 

"  That  is  naughty  and  perverse  of  you,  Helen,"  exclaimed 
Susan,  making  an  effort  to  laugh.  "  You  know  we  only 
want  you  to  exhibit  yourself." 

"  And  to  be  agreeable,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  emphati- 
cally. 

"  Which  she  will  not  be,  if  we  force  her  against  her  in- 
clination," continued  Mrs.  Graham,  kindly ;  "  so  we  won't 
say  anything  more  about  it  now,  but  leave  it." 

"  To  Claude's  influence,"  said  Lady  Augusta.  "  He  has 
not  attempted  to  exercise  it  yet,  by  expressing  his  wish." 

"  Helen  can  scarcely  require  that,"  said  Claude.  He 
thought  he  had  spoken  gently,  but  he  was  not  quite  success- 
ful ;  and  Helen  became  more  ungracious,  and  turning  to  her 
aunt,  said,  that  she  could  not  make  urj  her  mind  at  once ; 
she  was  afraid  the  fatigue  might  be  more  than  she  could 
bear,  as  the  party  at  Wingfield  would  take  place  so  near  the 
time  fixed  for  the  ball. 

Any  other  person  but  Mrs.  Graham  would  have  been  se- 
riously offended ;  but  she  read  the  truth  too  clearly  to  have 
any  feeling  for  herself. 

Claude  went  with  her  to  the  carriage,  but  Helen's  name 
was  not  mentioned  by  either.  And  Helen  returned  to  her 
room,  congratulating  herself  upon  her  firmness  in  asserting 
the  entire  freedom  of  her  own  will. 

Helen  kept  to  her  determination,  and  by  so  doing 
strengthened  her  ill-humour.  Before  the  day  was  over,  she 
had  brought  herself,  by  the  aid  of  pride  and  Lady  Louisa's 
innuendoes,  to  the  convici  ion,  that  Claude  was  purposely  bent 


276  ivoks. 

upon  exercising  his  power  over  her,  and  that  it  was  her  duty 
to  show  him  that  she  would  act  independently.  A  shower 
of  rain  put  a  final  stop  to  the  ride,  hut  she  took  no  advan- 
tage of  the  unoccupied  afternoon,  except  to  assure  Clande 
that  he  was  quite  wrong  in  forming  engagements  for  her 
without  her  consent.  She  was  silent  at  dinner,  and  read  all 
the  evening.  Claude  tried  to  overlook  her  manner,  not  com- 
prehending the  cause  of  offence,  and  thinking  that  time  and 
consideration  would  bring  her  round  again.  But  when  he 
found  no  change,  he  left  her  to  herself.  Such  a  mood  could 
not  fail  to  excite  remark  ;  and  even  Sir  Henry,  noticing  her 
short  replies,  asked  whether  she  was  well. 

"  Quite  well,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  nothing  is  the  matter : " 
hut  Helen,  as  she  said  these  words,  thought  the  contrary,  and 
looked  upon  herself  as  a  martyr. 

One  of  the  last  things  she  could  have  believed  was,  that 
she  could  be  a  prey  to  petty  feelings,  little  jealousies,  mean 
tempers.  Persons  who  have,  what  are  called,  great  faults 
(great  being  supposed  to  imply  noble),  seldom  do  think  so  ; 
the  degradation  of  temper,  the  baseness  of  pride,  seem  never 
to  enter  into  their  calculations. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Helen  went  to  bed  early  and  rose  late ;  ana  when  she  went 
down  stairs,  found  every  one  assembled  at  breakfast.  The 
letters  had  just  been  brought  in.  Sir  Henry  tossed  several 
to  Claude,  exclaiming:  "Business  befitting  your  new  digni- 
ty already,  Claude.  You  must  keep  a  secretary  if  you  begin 
so  early." 

Claude  took  up  his  letters  and  looked  at  the  directions. 


ivoes.  277 

"  The  cards  of  life,"  said  Lady  Louisa ;  "  one  always  has 
a  hope  that  one  may  take  up  trumps." 

"  Or  court  cards,  at  least,"  observed  Miss  Manners. 

"  I  don't  think  the  cards  signify,"  remarked  Lady  Au- 
gusta ;  "  or  at  least  only  comparatively  speaking.  The  im- 
portant thing  is  how  they  shall  he  played." 

Claude  looked  up  from  his  letters,  and  said  :  "  There  are 
certain  rules  which,  if  they  could  be  kept, — at  least  one 
should  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  one  had  not 
lost  the'game  by  one's  own  fault." 

"  You  are  not  likely  to  do  that,  my  good  fellow,"  ex- 
claimed Maurice  ;  "  you  seem  to  me  to  have  rules  at  hand  for 
all  occasions." 

Claude   turned   to  Helen   who   was    sitting   next   him. 

"  There  is  a  rule  for  this  occasion,  at  least.  Here  is  a 
letter  from  my  lawyer,  saying  that  I  must,  without  fail,  be  in 
town  on  the  sixteenth.  I  thought  it  would  be  so."  He  held 
out  the  letter,  and  Helen  took  it  mechanically. 

"  The  sixteenth  !  better  than  the  seventeenth,"  exclaimed 
Lady  Augusta ;  "  you  will  be  down  again  for  the  ball." 

Claude  smiled  faintlv,  and  said  :  "  We  shall  see."  And 
Helen  laid  the  letter  on  the  table  without  any  remark. 

Claude  was  busied  with  his  letters  nearly  the  whole  of 
breakfast  time.  Lady  Louisa  talked  a  good  deal,  so  did 
Miss  Manners ;  but  Lady  Augusta  showed  plainly  that  the 
world  was  not  going  smoothly  with  her ;  less,  however,  by 
what  she  said,  than  by  what  she  did :  the  slices  of  dry  toast 
being  taken  with  an  abstracted  air,  as  if  eating  were  a  pen- 
ance, only  submitted  to  as  a  duty ;  and  slowly  conveyed  to 
her  mouth  in  tiny  morsels,  with  a  languid  curve  of  the  wrist, 
which  just  served  to  display  the  whiteness  and  symmetry  of 
her  delicate  hand. 

Helen  was  cross,  and  did  not  try  to  conceal  it.  She 
shivered,  and  sent  for  a  shawl ;  but  refused  to  sit  near  the 


278  ivoks. 

fire,  and  declared  that  the  weather  was  so  miserable,  the  only 
thing  to  he  done  was  to  take  a  long  Avalk ;  and  then  she 
turned  to  Miss  Manners,  and  asked  if  she  would  go  with  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  no  wonder,  after  this,  that  Claude  found 
too  much  occupation  in  his  letters  to  allow  of  his  mixing  in 
general  conversation. 

Breakfast  was  ended.  Claude  collected  his  letters,  so 
did  Sir  Henry.  Lady  Augusta  addressed  her  husband : 
"  My  dear,  are  you  going  to  your  study  %  I  wish  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  Sir  Henry  answered,  a  little 
quickly  ;  "  Claude,  I  shall  want  you  by  and  by ;  when  shall 
you  be  at  leisure  ?  " 

"  At  any  hour,  sir ;  I  am  going  to  walk  in  the  colon- 
nade." Claude  glanced  at  Helen.  She  must  have  seen  the 
glance,  but  she  would  not  reply  to  it.  Sir  Henry,  Lady  Au- 
gusta, and  Maurice  went  away. 

"  Shall  we  go  out  at  eleven  ?  "  said  Miss  Manners  to 
Helen,  as  she  prepared  to  follow  them.  "  It  may  be  better 
than  waiting  till  the  first  loveliness  of  the  day  has  passed. 
The  world  becomes  sombre  in  the  afternoon,  and  casts  an 
oppression  upon  the  spirits." 

"  I  don't  see  where  you  can  find  any  loveliness  at  this 
season,"  observed  Lady  Louisa ;  "  for  me,  I  feel  only  '  the 
icy  fang  and  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind ; '  and, 
if  I  might  venture  to  judge  from  Mr.  Egerton's  face,  he 
agrees  with  me." 

Claude  was  lingering  by  the  fire.  He  answered  shortly, 
that  it  was  certainly  bitter  weather. 

"  And  a  solitary  walk  in  the  colonnade  is  not  likely  to 
make  you  warm,"  observed  Lady  Louisa ;  ';  you  would  do 
yourself  more  good  by  joining  Helen  and  Miss  Manners." 

Claude  was  very  sorry,  but  he  had  a  particular  engage- 
ment that  morning,  and  he  walked  out  of  the  room.     Helen 


ivors.  279 

waited  till  be  was  gone, — and  then  moved  slowly  towards 
the  door.  A  screen  hid  it,  so  that  no  one  could  see  when  she 
left  the  room. 

"  A  first-rate  Petruchio ! "  said  Lady  Louisa  to  Miss 
Manners,  thinking  that  Helen  was  out  of  hearing.  "He 
won't  move  one  step  forward." 

"Yet  I  would  take  a  bet  that  his  Kate  will  be  too  much 
for  him,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  have  known  her  from  her  in- 
fancy." 

"  So  have  I ;  but  if  ever  I  saw  determination  expressed 
in  any  man's  face,  it  is  in  Mr.  Egerton's." 

The  rustling  of  a  silk  dress  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
apartment  was  heard ;  Lady  Louisa  and  Miss  Manners 
looked  at  each  other,  then  at  the  screen ;  but  no  one  ap- 
peared from  behind  it ;  and  Helen's  light  step  was  just  audi- 
ble, as  she  glided  away,  and  ran  up-stairs  to  her  own  room. 
Five  minutes  afterwards  she  had  joined  Claude  in  the  colon- 
nade. He  was  pacing  it  rapidly,  but  slackened  his  steps  as 
she  drew  near.  Helen  put  her  arm  witbin  his,  and  they 
went  on  for  some  seconds  in  silence :  then  Helen  made  a 
commonplace  remark,  but  received  only  a  very  cold  reply. 
She  tried  a  second,  but  its  success  was  no  greater :  at  length 
she  stopped  suddenly,  and  said  :  "  We  are  not  very  pleasant 
companions  to  each  other." 

"  Not  at  all  pleasant,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  I  may  as  well  go  in,  then  ?  "  said  Helen. 

"Not  on  any  account,  if  it  gives  you  satisfaction  to  be 
here." 

"Satisfaction!"  Helen  angrily  withdrew  her  arm: 
"  Claude,  is  that  a  word  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  expresses  what  I  mean,"  be  replied.  "  You  give  me 
no  reason  to  think  that  you  bave  pleasure  in  being  with  me. 
I  conclude,  therefore,  that  you  come  merely  as  a  Satisfaction 
to  your  conscience." 


2S0  ivoes. 

"  Claude,  you  are  unkind,  aggravating ; "  and  Helen 
drew  herself  up  angrily. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  either,  Helen  ;  and  I  won't  retort ; 
though  I  might." 

"  I  thought  that  love,  true  love,"  said  Helen,  and  she  laid 
a  stress  on  the  adjective,  "  was  always  charitable  and  for- 
bearing." 

"  I  hope  it  is ;  but  it  must  be  reciprocal,  mutual  love : 
and  you  must  allow  me  to  say,  that  within  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  1  have  had  sufficient  reason  to  doubt  whether  love 
with  us  is  reciprocal." 

"  The  same  thought  has  crossed  my  own  mind,"  replied 
Helen,  stiffly. 

Claude  turned  round  suddenly  and  fiercely:  "Doubt  of 
my  affection  crossed  your  mind !  Helen,  what  false  spirit 
has  suggested  the  idea  *?  " 

Helen  slightly  trembled  as  she  replied :  "  Dictatorial  and 
exacting  love,  is  not  true  love.  If  you  wish  for  a  slave, 
Claude,  you  have  made  a  wrong  choice." 

Claude  strode  on  at  a  pace  which  rendered  it  difficult  for 
her  to  follow  him ;  and  throwing  himself  upon  a  bench  at 
the  further  end  of  the  colonnade,  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

Helen  felt  frightened.  Cold  herself,  she  little  knew 
the  tempest  of  feeling  which  it  was  in  her  power  to  excite. 
He  looked  up  after  some  moments,  his  complexion  of  an  ashy 
paleness,  and  said  bitterly :  "  There  is  something  more  in 
this  than  I  understand." 

"I  see  no  mystery,"  replied  Helen,  "except  that  I  don't 
suit  you." 

He  spoke  impatiently :  "  Let  me  be  the  judge  ;  when  you 
don't  suit  me,  I  will  tell  you." 

"  Yet  it  may  be  well  to  consider  in  time,"  said  Helen, 
quietly. 


ivors.  281 

"  Helen !  you  madden  me.  Consider !  yes,  I  do  con- 
sider ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to  consider  also.  It  is  true,  I  am 
exacting,  not  of  obedience,  but  of  confidence.  As  for  the 
trifles  which  have  brought  this  cloud  between  us,  they  are 
too  miserable  to  need  explanation  ;  and  they  are  not  the 
root  of  the  evil.  I  am  not  blind,  Helen.  A  fancied  inter- 
ference with  your"  will,  and  the  petty  sarcasm  of  a  woman 
like  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  could  have  no  power  over  you  if 
you  trusted  me  as  I  deserve  to  be  trusted.  You  do  me 
wrong,  base  wrong." 

Helen's  dark,  expressive  eyes,  met  his  for  a  moment  in 
fear,  and  then  were  bent  upon  the  ground.  He  thought  she 
reproached  him  for  his  harshness,  and  his  manner  changed 
into  tenderness,  mingled,  however,  with  reproach.  "  For- 
give me,  dearest,  forgive  me ;  I  may  have  been  hasty  and 
impatient  with  you.  I  am  apt  to  be  so ;  my  manner  is  at 
times  dictatorial :  but  can  a  chance  word  separate  hearts  that 
are  truly  one  ?  " 

Helen  was  silent ;  and  Claude  continued  :  "  You  are  hard 
upon  yourself,  Helen,  when  you  bring  before  me  a  phase  of 
character  so  unlike  your  own  real  nature.  Even  as  a  child, 
I  respected  you  for  your  truth  and  generosity,  and  loving 
trust  in  others,  and  so  I  respect  you  now  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart.  Only  let  me  feel  that  you  love  me,  and  then  toll 
me  of  my  faults  if  you  will.  God  knows,  you  will  scarcely 
find  more  than  I  am  ready  to  acknowledge." 

"  I  was  wrong,"  said  Helen  ;   "  I  ought  to  submit." 

"No,  never,  if  I  am  unjust  or  exacting.  But  surely  you 
will  forget  all  that ;  it  can't  need  explanation,  if  you  will 
only  believe  that  I  vexed  you  unintentionally." 

Helen  evaded  a  direct  reply,  for  her  heart  was  still 
proud.  In  a  faltering  voice  she  said:  "If  at  any  time  I  re- 
ally distrust  ymi.  you  will  cease  to  love  me." 

"I  don't  know  ;  I  won't  think  of  such  a  possibility." 


2S2  ivoks. 

"  But  change  in  me  might  make  you  change,"  continued 
Helen. 

He  paused ;  then  said  very  gravely :  "  Only  such  change 
as. I  could  never  contemplate, — which  would  make  me  fear 
that  you  had  wilfully  and  knowingly  deceived  me." 

"  I  have  not  done  that,"  replied  Helen,  quickly. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  hers,  and  said,*"  Sooner  would  I 
believe  that  an  angel  from  heaven  could  do  it,  than  that  you 
could." 

Helen's  heart  throbbed  convulsively.  Almost  she  could 
have  said :  "  Yet  you  are  deceived.  I  do  not  love  you."  But 
Claude  looked  at  her  with  the  glance  of  deep,  pure,  un- 
fathomable confidence  and  affection,  and  the  confession  was 
stopped. 

Before  there  had  been  time  for  another  word,  she  was 
summoned  to  her  father's  study. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

Helen  was  more  afraid  of  her  father  than  of  her  step- 
mother, whenever  anything  was  really  amiss,  or  when  con- 
science at  all  reproached  her.  Sir  Henry  had  a  frank, 
straightforward  way  of  looking  at  all  matters,  and  judging 
them,  from  which  it  was  impossible  to  escape.  It  took  the 
place  of  talent  in  many  instances,  and  caused  him  to  be  con- 
sulted when  men  of  very  much  greater  powers  would  have 
been  passed  by. 

He  used  no  circumlocution  either  in  his  mode  of  address  ; 
and  now  as  soon  as  Helen  entered  the  room  ne  began,  with- 
out allowing  Lady  Augusta,  who  was  present,  to  interpose  a 
remark.     "  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  my  dear.     Your  mamma 


ivoes.  283 

and  I  Lave  been  talking  about  you.  We  don't  understand 
what  is  the  matter  between  you  and  Claude." 

"  There  is  nothing  particular  the  matter.  Claiide  and  I 
do  very  well  together,"  said  Helen. 

"  Nay,  my  love,"  interrupted  Lady  Augusta. 

"  Stop,  my  dear,  stop  !  Let  her  speak  for  herself.  No- 
body wants  you  to  marry  Claude  Egerton,  or  Claude  any- 
body, my  child,  unless  he  is  likely  to  make  you  happy. 
There  is  time  enough  to  consider.  Better  draw  back  now, 
than  repent  by  and  by." 

"  But,  my  dear  Sir  Henry,  indeed, — Helen,  my  love,  your 
papa  is  only  anxious,  as  I  am,  for  your  happiness,  and  we 
thought  we  saw  the  shadow  of  something  not  quite  com- 
fortable." 

"  No  shadow,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Henry.  "  They  did  n't 
speak  a  word  to  each  other  all  yesterday  evening,  and  they 
have  been  perfectly  silent  all  this  morning.  That  is  reality, 
not  shadow." 

"I  was  not  inclined  to  talk  this  morning,"  replied 
Helen. 

"  Just  the  thing  I  complain  of.  I  don't  understand  peo- 
ple Avho  are  in  love  not  talking  to  each  other.  Your  mamma 
says  it  is  something  about  going  to  your  aunt  Fanny?" 

Helen  felt  more  ashamed  than  she  could  bear  to  show. 
It  was  one  thing  to  Lave  a  petty  feeling  lurking  in  her  own 
mind,  or  even  brought  out  in  the  form  of  complaint  to 
Claude  ;  but  it  was  terribly  humiliating  to  have  her  folly  put 
before  her  in  words  by  her  father.  She  replied :  "  I  don't 
wish  to  go  to  my  aunt's.  I  don't  know  any  of  the  people 
who  are  likely  to  be  there." 

"  Then  stay  at  home,  my  dear.  There  is  no  difficulty. 
Does  Claude  wish  you  to  go'?" 

"He  would  like  it,  I  think,"  said  Helen. 

"Ofcour.se  he  would,  my  love,"  observed  Lady  Augusta. 


2Si 


IVORS. 


"  His  whole  heart  is  set  upon  being  with  you.  He  can't  bear 
the  idea  of  separation  even  for  an  hour." 

"He  formed  the  plan  himself,  though,  without  consult- 
ing me,"  said  Helen ;  feeling  herself  forced  to  give  some 
cause  of  complaint. 

"  But  always  with  the  idea  of  your  falling  into  it,"  said 
Lady  Augusta,  swerving  a  little  from  the  truth,  yet  so  dex- 
terously that  no  one  could  discover  it. 

The  plan  was,  in  fact,  of  her  own  proposing,  though 
Claude  had  readily  seconded  it. 

"  Claude  ought  not  to  have  mentioned  it  to  aunt  Fanny 
without  asking  me,"  said  Helen.  "  He  put  me  into  a  diffi- 
culty." 

"  And  is  this  all  ?  Helen,  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  burst 
forth  Sir  Henry. 

But  Lady  Augusta  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm ;  and  he 
yielded  to  the  implied  reproof,  and  was  silent. 

"  My  love,  your  father  and  I  cannot  help  feeling  vexed 
with  you  in  this  matter.  It  is  but  a  trifle ;  yet  we  think 
you  have  shown  yourself  too  much  bent  upon  having  your 
own  way,  and  we  wish " 

"  Stop,  my  dear,  excuse  me : "  Sir  Henry  tried  to  speak 
gently,  but  his  impatience  would  show  itself.  "  We  don't 
wish  you  to  do  anything,  Helen,  except  pleas*  yourself;  but 
you  have  no  right  to  play  with  any  man's  happiness.  Claude 
Egerton  has  chosen  you  to  be  his  wife,  and  a  great  honour 
he  has  done  you.  ]  say  it,  though  you  are  my  daughter. 
If  you  must  needs  put  yourself  into  an  ill  temper,  and  be 
sulky  for  twenty-four  hours,  because  he  wants  you  to  do 
something  you  don't  fancy,  or  makes  an  engagement  without 
consulting  you,  you  are  not  worthy  of  him." 

Helen's  pride  had  risen  during  this  speech,  and  she  re- 
plied in  her  coldest  and  haughtiest  tone,  "  I  quite  agree  with 
you." 


IVOKS. 


285 


Lady  Augusta  became  extremely  frightened.  "  My  dear 
Sir  Henry,  begging  your  pardon,  you  are  very  hard  upon 
her.     Your  papa  does  n't  mean  all  he  says,  my  love." 

"  Allow  me  to  differ  from  you,  my  dear.  I  always  try 
to  use  words  which  exactly  express  my  meaning." 

"  Still,  pray  let  me  explain  myself,  Sir  Henry.  What  I 
would  remark  to  you,  Helen,  is  this.  We  lament  very  much 
that  any  such  difference  should  arise  between  Claude  and 
you.  We  are  sure  it  is  only  a  misunderstanding ;  but  still 
it  ought  -not  to  be  allowed  to  continue,  and  we  would  sug- 
gest  " 

"  That  you  go  and  beg  Claude's  pardon,"  interrupted  Sir 
Henry,  "  and  tell  him  you  have  been  a  very  foolish  girl,  and 
you  hope  that  he  will  forgive  you." 

"Scarcely  to  be  expected,  that,"  continued  Lady  Au- 
gusta.    "  There  are  faults  on  both  sides,  doubtless." 

"  Claude  is  dictatorial,"  murmured  Helen. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  is,  my  love.  My  dear  Sir  Henry, 
you  must  let  me  say  that  women  cannot  but  understand  these 
things  better  than  men.  Helen  no  doubt  is  right;  and 
Claude  is  rather  too  much  bent  upon  having  his  own  way. 
But  there  must  be  a  sacrifice  ;  women's  lives  " — and  Lady 
Augusta  gave  a  compassionate  sigh  to  the  sorrows  of  hei  sex 
— "  are  fur  the  most  part  all  sacrifice.  Still,  where  there  is 
love, — when  two  hearts  are  so  tenderly  attached,  as  in  this 
casej — it  is  a  pity,  it  seems  very  grievous  that  a  cloud,  even 
though  it  may  be  only  a  passing  one,  should  disturb  the 
beautiful  serenity  of  happiness." 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  wish  me  to  do,  mamma," 
said  Helen,  shortly. 

"Go  to  your  aunt's,  like  a  sensible  girl,  and  say  no  more 
about  it,"  observed  Sir  Henry. 

"  Tell  dear  Claude  that  you  lament  having  vexed  him, 
and  that  you  arc  anxious  to  meet  his  wishes,"  said  Lady 
Augusta , 


28G  ivors. 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  go  to  my  aunt's,  if  it  is  thought 
right,"  replied  Helen. 

"  Nonsense,  child !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Henry.  "  No  one 
wants  to  make  a  martyr  of  you." 

"  I  must  be  a  martyr,  if  I  am  to  go  to  such  a  disagree- 
able party,"  said  Helen. 

Sir  Henry  looked  at  her  keenly,  then  turned  to  Lady 
Augusta :  "  Leave  her  to  me,  my  dear ;  I  don't  understand 
this."  And  Lady  Augusta,  though  most  unwillingly,  and 
with  an  appealing  glance  at  Helen,  departed. 

Sir  Henry  watched  till  the  door  was  closed ;  and  then 
beckoning  to  Helen  to  draw  near,  made  her  sit  down  at  his 
feet,  as  she  had  done  when  a  little  child,  and  said  very 
gravely :  "  Now  let  me  hear  the  truth." 

"  You  have  heard  it,  papa." 

"  Not  all.  Helen,  I  must  and  will  know  whether  you 
have  quarrelled  with  Claude  for  something  or  for  nothing." 

"  For  nothing — nothing  that  can  be  explained,  that  is. 
Papa,  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  know  what  it  all  means." 

"Not  so  impossible  as  you  may  think,  Helen.  I  have 
never  found  any  difficulty  yet,  which  could  not  be  solved  by 
truth.     Speak  truth,  and  I  must  understand." 

"  Of  course !  "  exclaimed  Helen,  haughtily ;  "  I  should 
never  speak  anything  else  !  " 

"  Well  then !  let  me  have  true  answers  to  my  questions. 
Is  Claude  in  fault  in  this  disagreement  %  " 

Helen's  conscience  struggled  with  her  pride ;  but  the  an- 
swer came :  "  No." 

"  Then  you  are  in  fault  %  " 

"Yes;  but " 

"No  buts, — we  will  discuss  them  afterwards.  If  you 
are  in  fault,  are  you  not  bound  to  confess  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  will  you  confess  it  %  " 


ivoes.  2S7 

"  I — we  have  been  talking  together ; — I  think  we  under- 
stand each  other  better." 

"  That  won't  do,  Helen.  '  Better  '  is  no  word  for  people 
who  are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  J  don't  wish  to  be  married,"  exclaimed  Helen  passion- 
ately ;  "  I  have  been  more  unhappy  since  I  was  engaged  than 
I  ever  was  before  ;  "  and  she  started  up  and  stood  before  her 
father  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  sparkling,  indignant  eye. 

Sir  Henry  regarded  her  in  surprise ;  then  he  said  very 
slowly,  "Ho  wonder  that  Claude  is  vexed  if  this  is  the  way 
in  which  you  treat  him." 

"  It  is  interference  which  provokes  me  ;  if  I  were  left  to 
myself,  I  could  do  very  well,"  continued  Helen  in  a  more 
gentle  tone.  "  Papa,  you  had  much  better  leave  me  to 
manage  my  own  affairs." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear.  But  one  thing  you  must  remem- 
ber, that  I  am  responsible  for  your  happiness,  and  I  can't 
help  fearing  for  it  when  I  see  these  strange  tempers  coming 
between  yuu  and  Claude.  If  he  is  in  the  wrong,  it  can't  be 
wise  to  trust  you  to  him  ;  and  if  you  are,  the  least  I  can  say 
is,  that  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

Helen  evidently  had  a  great  struggle  with  herself;  but 
her  father's  determined  tone  awed  her,  and  she  said,  cmietly, 
"  I  dare  say  I  am  pettish  sometimes ;  but  I  have  never  been 
used  to  be  tyrannised  over." 

"  And  you  wish,  then,  to  escape  from  what  you  call  ty- 
ranny?" asked  Sir  Henry,  sternly. 

Helen  had  never  quite  brought  herself  to  fare  this  possi- 
bility ;  she  evaded  a  reply,  and  answered,  that  she  wished 
Claude  to  understand  she  did  not  like  it. 

"  And  what  will  you  say,  then,  to  a  wife's  obedience  to 
her  husband?"  inquired  Sir  Henry. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  learn  it  when  it  is  necessary,"  was 
Helen's  cold  answer. 


2S8  ivoes. 

Sir  Henry  was  perplexed  by  her  manner ;  but  after  a 
moment's  thought,  he  said,  "  I  am  not  up  to  a  woman's 
whims,  Helen,  but  I  won't  see  an  honest,  kind-hearted  fel- 
low sacrificed  to  them.  If  you  can  face  your  duty  and  per- 
form it,  well  and  good !  I  shall  see  you  married  to  Claude 
Egerton  more  willingly  than  I  should  to  the  first  Duke  in 
England.  But  if  you  don't  love  him  well  enough  to  give  up 
a  silly  fancy  to  please  him,  you  had  much  better  say  so  at 
once.  It  will  be  more  the  part  that  I  should  like  my  daugh- 
ter to  act,  and  more  befitting  the  character  of  a  true  and 
sensible  woman,  than  to  play  the  cat  and  mouse  game  you 
have  been  playing  with  him  lately.  I  leave  the  case  in  your 
own  hands,  but  I  give  you  a  father's  advice,  which  you  will 
do  well  not  to  reject.  Now,  kiss  me,  and  we  will  be  friends 
again ;  but  remember,  I  expect  you  to  make  up  your  mind 
to  one  thing  or  the  other,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  such 
folly." 

It  was  the  first  severe  reproof  which  Helen  had  for  years 
received  from  her  father,  and  it  surprised  her  so  much  that 
she  did  not  know  how  to  reply  to  it.  She  kissed  him  me- 
chanically, and  left  the  room  without  venturing  upon  another 
word. 

Lady  Augusta  joined  her  before  she  had  reached  her 
own  apartment.  "  My  love,  you  are  flurried.  Your  father 
has  misunderstood  you ;  I  was  afraid  it  might  be." 

Helen  stood  willingly  to  receive  Lady  Augusta's  caress. 
The  idea  of  being  misunderstood  was  grateful  to  her  proud 
spirit.  Lady  Augusta  went  on  ;  "I  feel  I  was  wrong  now, 
in  saying  anything  to  him  of  my  anxiety.  Men  are  so  very 
dull  in  matters  of  feeling;  they  have  no  tact.  I  only 
thought  he  might  help  me  to  discover  what  the  cause  of  the 
cloud  was,  and  that,  perhaps,  he  might  be  able  to  prevail 
upon  you,  even  better  than  I  could,  to  give  up  your  inclina- 
tion, and  go  to  your  aunt's,  rather  than  annoy  Claude." 


ivoes.  2S9 

u  I  am  going,"  said  Helen,  speaking  in  the  tone  of  a 
martyr  about  to  be  burnt  at  the  stake. 

"  Just  what  I  expected,  my  love.  I  felt  you  would.  I 
don't  think — but  let  me  come  into  your  room  one  minute, 
and  talk  the  matter  over."  Lady  Augusta  opened  the  door 
of  Helen's  apartment,  and  sat  down  in  a  confidential  atti- 
tude. "  I  was  going  to  say,  my  dear  child,  that  I  don't  think 
you,  or  any  one  brought  up  as  you  have  been  in  such  exces- 
sive retirement,  can  possibly  enter  into  the  extent  of  affec- 
tion which  a  man  like  Claude  must  have,  before  he  makes 
up  his  mind  to  marry.  A  young  girl's  feelings  are  naturally 
cold  in  comparison ;  affection  increases  as  time  goes  on. 
"Women  often  love  their  husbands  much  more  after  they  are 
married,  than  before.  Union  of  interests,  the  sense  of  pro- 
tection, the  experience  of  constant  kindness — all  these  tilings 
tend  to  increase  their  love  ;  and  very  right  that  it  should  be 
so.  Your  dear  father  and  myself,  for  instance,  are  far  more 
to  each  other  now,  than  when  I  first  consented  to  become  his 
wife.  It  is  desirable  to  understand  this,  or  it  may  cause  un- 
happiness." 

"  Claude  chooses  a  strange  way  of  showing  his  affection," 
said  Helen. 

"  Bather,  perhaps ;  and  yet  it  is  not  strange  ;  it  is  the 
way  of  all  men.  If  you  had  known  as  much  of  them  as  I 
have,  it  would  not  surprise  yon.  But  it  will  all  come  right 
by  and  by.  Just  now,  poor  fellow,  he  can't  bear  you  out  of 
his  sight:  you  will  teach  him  better,  in  time;  and  when  lie 
enters  upon  his  duties  as  Member,  he  won't  have  leisure  to 
be  exacting." 

Helen  was  very  perverse ;  she  did  not  like  that  notion. 
Lady  Augusta  watched  the  change  in  her  expressive  face, 
and  continued,  in  a  free,  rather  laughing  tone :  "  One  thing, 
Helen,  my  love,  we  must  all  makeup  our  minds  to:  men 
are  selfish, — very  often  they  don'1  know  it — hut  it  is  in  their 


200  ivors. 

nature,  and  they  will  be  so  to  the  end.  Claude,  I  dare  say, 
was  afraid  of  a  dull  evening,  and.  begging  your  aunt's  par- 
don, it  was  inconsiderate  to  take  advantage  of  his  kindness 
as  she  did.  But  I  saw  that  lie  repented  as  soon  as  he  had 
said  'yes;'  and  then,  to  make  the  matter  more  agreeable, 
you  were  brought  in.  For  myself,  I  was  taken  by  surprise. 
It,  is  quite  against  my  principles,  as  you  know,  that  you 
should  he  mixed  up  with  all  your  aunt's  strange  friends  ;  hut 
1  did  so  feel  for  Claude,  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
refuse  ;  and  then,  when  1  looked  at  you,  I  found  I  had  done 
quite  wrong.  You  must  forgive  me,  my  love.  It  is  really 
a  difficult  part  which  I  have  to  play.  Cut  dear  Claude's  en- 
grossing love — that  was  the  thing  I  felt  I  had  to  consider 
first,  and  that  it  was  which  made  me  so  uneasy,  and  induced 
me  to  apply  to  your  father.  Very  unwisely,  I  quite  own  now, 
— yes,  very  unwisely;"  and  Lady  Augusta  ended  her  ex- 
planation with  a  deeply  penitent  sigh. 

"It  has  heen  a  great  fuss  about  nothing,"  said  Helen. 

"Yes,  perhaps  so; — however,  it  will  all  he  right  now, 
and  Claude  is  really  behaving  most  admirably  ;  trying  to  re- 
member his  duty  to  every  one.  I  suppose  he  lias  told  you 
that  he  is  going  to  the  Admiral's  this  afternoon,  for  a  couple 
of  days." 

"To  stay!  Going  away!"  repeated  Helen,  changing 
Colour  rapidly. 

"  Didn'1  you  know  it,  my  love'?  But  no,  now  I  remeni- 
ber,  the  note  came  whilst  you  were  talking  to  your  father. 
1  never  saw  a  poor  fellow  more  really  disappointed,  and  yet 
hearing  it  all  so  well.  As  he  said  to  me,  to  have  two  days 
away  from  yon  now,  and  then  that  stupid  evening  at  Wing- 
fieldj  and  obliged  to  go  to  town  on  the  sixteenth,  was  really 
too  trying^" 

"  I  am  glad  he  can  care  about  it,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Helen. 


IVOES.  291 

Lady  Augusta  laughed.  "  Xow,  really,  my  dear  Helen, 
I  must  scold  you.  You  only  want  to  be  flattered,  and  told 
how  miserable  poor  Claude  is.  1  think  the  best  thing  I  can 
do  is  to  send  you  to  him  to  comfort  him." 

Helen  was  silent.  She  had  taken  off  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  and  was  standing  before  the  glass,  arranging  her  hair. 

"  If  you  tell  him  he  will  see  you  at  your  aunt's,  it  will 
soften  the  disappointment  immensely,"  continued  Lady  Au- 
gusta. "  I  tried  to  persuade  him  that  he  need  not  go  to  the 
Admiral's." 

"  And  why  must  he  go  ?  "  inquired  Helen. 

■•AVhy,  as  he  says,  there  was  a  positive  engagement 
when  he  first  came  to  us ;  and  if  the  Admiral  had  not  been 
so  ill.  he  must  have  paid  his  visit  some  time  ago.  It  won't 
do  to  offend  the  old  man,  he  is  so  crochety." 

"  Two  days  !  "  repeated  Helen  to  herself,  musingly.  It 
was  not  quae  clear  to  Lady  Augusta  whether  there  was  re- 
lief or  regret  in  the  tone. 

••  Which  will  be  cheered  by  the  prospect  of  the  evening 
at  Wingfield,"  continued  Lady  Augusta.  "  Just  fancy  what 
it  will  be  to  him  to  be  condemned  to  Susan's  prosaics,  with- 
out yud  to  enliven  him." 

Helen  moved  a  few  steps  towards  the  door. 

■■  lie  is  waiting  tc  see  you  in  your  morning  room,"  con- 
tinued Lady  Augusta  "I  told  him  that  I  would  send  you 
to  him,  that  he  might  break  the  bad  news  to  vou." 

Helen  tho.ight — hesitated — and  just  then  Claude's  step 
was  heard  in  the  gallery. 

"  A  very  few  words  will  comfort  him,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 

And  Helen  went.  Tears  were  in  her  eye-;,  sincere  tears 
of  vexation  with  herself,  and  regret  for  him.  She  Baid  the 
"few  words,"  which  expressed  affection,  but  were  called  forth 
by  many  other  feelings;  and  Claude  received  them  with 
gratitude  and  deep  tenders 


292  ivors. 

She  was  happy  till  Claude  said,  "  Oh  Helen !  nothing  can 
long  trouble  me  whilst  you  are  true  ; "  and  then  a  pang  shot 
through  her  heart,  and  she  went  hack  to  her  room  repeating 
to  herself :  "I  don't  mean  to  deceive  him.  Men  naturally 
show  their  feelings  in  these  cases  more  than  women  do  ;  and, 
as  mamma  says,  it  will  he  all  right  when  we  are  married." 


CHAPTEE  XXXVIII. 

"  I  beg  to  deliver  my  testimony  that  Shakspeare  is  a  true 
oracle,  and  that  'the  course  of  true  love  never  does  run 
smooth,"  exclaimed  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  seating  herself  at 
her  work-frame,  two  days  after  Claude  had  left  Ivors. 

"  May  I  have  the  benefit  of  your  experience  % "  asked 
Miss  Manners,  laying  down  a  hook  of  German  philosophy. 
"  I  have  been  attentively  studying  the  phases  of  the  disease 
presented  to  me  during  the  last  few  weeks,  but  have  not  sat- 
isfied myself  whether  it  has  been  progressing,  or  the  con- 
trary." 

"  Oh !  I  leave  the  malady,"  replied  Lady  Louisa  ;  "  all  I 
contend  for  is,  that  if  lo\  e  runs  smoothly  for  lovers,  it  runs 
just  in  the  contrary  way  for  every  one  else.  Can  there  be 
anything  more  oppressive  than  the  society  of  a  person  who 
thinks  it  his  duty  to  be  so  devoted  to  one  individual,  that  he 
must  never  spare  a  thought  for  any  one  else  %  Ivors  has 
been  quite  a  different  place  since  that  melancholy  Jacques 
departed." 

"  Fair  Helen  keeps  up  her  spirits  wonderfully,"  observed 
Miss  Manners.  "Xo  loss  of  appetite,  no  sighs,  only  a  most 
bright  and  agreeable  flow  of  spirits,  very  unusual." 

'•  Freedom  to  follow  her  own  sweet  will ! "  exclaimed 
Lady  Louisa. 


ivoes.  293 


"  '  She  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 

She  is  so  self-endeared.'  " 

Miss  Manners  shook  her  head  oracularly.     "  I  give  no 


opinion  ;  only  if  I  were  Mr.  Egerton " 

"  You  would  not  have  the  tooth-ache,"  said  Lady  Louisa, 
laughing.  "Yet  remember, — '  Every  one  can  master  a  grief, 
but  he  that  has  it.'  " 

"Nevertheless,  Helen  seems  to  have  learned  .to  submit 
the  independent  strength  of  her  own  mind  to  the  power  of 
his,"  observed  Miss  Manners.  "  The  Wingfield  question  is 
yielded." 

"  Yes ;  I  never  doubted  that  Petruchio  would  win  the 
day.     But  submission  goes  against  the  grain." 

"  All  obedience  would,  with  her,"  observed  Miss  Man- 
ners. 

"  I  am  not   so    sure  of   that,   if "      Lady   Louisa 

paused,  and  put  on  an  air  of  mystery ;  then  murmured  to 
herself, — 

"  '  The  ides  of  March  arc  come. 
Ay,  Csesar  ;  hut  not  gone.'  " 

Miss  Manners  looked  for  an  explanation,  but  received 
none  ;  and  the  entrance  of  Helen,  dressed  in  readiness  to  set 
out  for  "Wingfield,  interrupted  the  conversation. 

"  Prepared  for  the  sacrifice,  I  see,"  was  Lady  Louisa's 
greeting.     "  You  look  most  properly  resigned,  Helen." 

"  I  wonder  if  the  carriage  is  come  round,"  said  Helen, 
ringing  the  bell.     "Annette  told  me  it  was." 

"  And  we  shall  see  you  again  at  what  hour  to-morrow, 
my  dear!"    inquired  Miss  Manners. 

"I  don't  know;  it  depends  upon  circumstances*" 

"Not  very  communicative/'  observed  Lady  Louisa. 
"But  I  suppose  you  reserve  yourself  for  Petruchio's  crders." 


29J:  ivoKS. 

Lady  Louisa  had  insisted  upon  calling  Claude,  Petrucliio,  ever 
since  she  had  found  a  fair  occsaion  for  giving  him  the  name. 
She  fancied  it  was  witty.  Helen  showed  that  she  was  irri- 
tated more  by  her  manner  than  her  words :  she  replied  cold- 
ly, that  she  supposed  the  carriage  would  be  sent  for  her  after 
luncheon  on  the  following  clay. 

"  You  will  make  yourself  charming  to  the  aborigines,  I 
have  no  doubt,"  continued  Lady  Louisa.  "  Imagine  their 
delight !  A  creature  from  a  new  sphere  dropped  down 
amongst  them !     They  really  are  too  fortunate." 

"  I  dare  say  they  are  very  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
won't  think  about  me,"  said  Helen. 

"But  you  will  think  about  them,  my  dear,"  observed 
Miss  Manners.  "  I  know  nothing  more  interesting  than  the 
fresh  glimpses  of  mind  and  feeling  one  meets  with  in  a  new 
society." 

"  And  fresh  manners  can  be  studied  also,"  observed  Lady 
Louisa.     "  Though  Petrucliio  would  scold  me  for  saying  so." 

Helen  drew  on  her  gloves,  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"  She  does  not  like  it,"  continued  Lady  Louisa,  laugh- 
ing. "  '  Conscience  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all ; '  but  she 
will  feel  I  have  named  him  rightly  before  long,  or  I  am  very 
much  mistake  a." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  can  never  look 
forward  with  satisfaction  to  seeing  that  noble,  independent 
spirits  of  hers  crushed." 

"  You  like  it,  do  you  ?  Well,  so  do  I,  at  a  distance.  It 
is  a  very  effective  character." 

"  And  a  very  attractive  study !  " 

"Yes,"  was  Lady  Louisa's  doubtful  answer.  She  had  a 
secret  misgiving  as  to  Helen's  attractions,  especially  when 
she  had  made  her  angry, 

Helen  did  not  return  to  the  drawing-room  to  wish  her 
friends  "  good-bye."     She  said  "  good-bye  "  to  no  one,  but 


ivoks.  295 

waited  in  her  own  room  for  the  carriage,  and,  when  it  was 
announced,  jumped  into  it,  and  told  the  coachman  to  drive 
as  fast  as  he  could  to  Wingfield.  At  the  point  where  a  lane 
led  from  the  Ivors  road  to  the  Lodge,  she  looked  out  for 
Claude,  with  a  feeling  which  ended — when  she  found  that  he 
Mas  not  watching  for  her — in  something  like  relief  at  heing 
a  little  longer  alone,  mingled  with  pique  at  the  conviction 
that  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  meet  her,  though  she 
had  written,  at  his  request,  to  tell  him  the  hour  at  which  she 
was  likely  to  pass. 

The  last  two  days  had  heen  days  of  freedom  to  Helen  ; — 
she  could  not  say  of  happiness,  for  they  had  been  dull,  rather 
in  the  old  way.  Wingfield,  if  it  was  nothing  else,  was  a 
little  excitement ;  and  she  roused  herself,  and  looked  about 
her  when  she  entered  the  town,  wondering  whether  any  of 
the  odd  people  she  saw  were  likely  to  be  at  her  aunt's. 

She  found  Mrs.  Graham  waiting  for  her  at  the  door,  hav- 
ing seen  the  carriage  enter  the  sweep.  Helen  was  ashamed 
not  to  be  able  to  say  more  truly,  that  she  was  glad  to  come, 
when  they  were  all  so  glad  to  see  her.  She  expressed  what 
she  could,  which  was  less  than  she  really  felt;  for,  in  trying 
to  be  true,  she  now  and  then  overs! lot  the  mark,  especially 
When  she  \va-  at  all  out  of  humour.  Isabella  and  Anna  saw 
this  directly,  and  went  back  to  the  study  disappointed.  Su- 
san and  Mrs.  Graham  bad  an  instinct  which  told  them  that 
it  was  something  in  Helen  herself,  rather  than  in  them, 
which  was  amiss.  Susan  took  Helen  up  stairs  to  a  little 
room  next  her  own ;  there  was  something  refreshing,  to 
Helen's  eye,  in  its  extreme  simplicity, — the  freshness  ami 
whiteness,  which  might  hate  made  it  look  cold,  only  there 
was  such  a  clear,  blazing  fire  to  brighten  it.  Helen  sat  down 
in  a  low  easy  chair,  and  said,  "  How  comfortable  1 "  and 
breathed  a  sigli  of  inward  satisfaction  at  t he  consciousness 
that.  Lady  Louisa   Slnart  and    Miss    Manners  were  quite  two 


29G  ivors. 

miles  off.  Susan  unfastened  the  strings  of  her  bonnet,  took 
off  her  shawl,  and  kissed  her,  and  said,  "  I  have  been  afraid 
from  the  beginning  that  you  would  not  come." 

"Why  not?     I  sent  you  word  I  would." 

"Yes  ;  but  it  was  not  quite  a  hearty  consent,  and  I  fan- 
cied you  would  retract." 

"  How  did  you  find  out  it  was  not  hearty  ?  " 

"  How  could  one  help  doing  so  with  you,  who  never  hide 
anything  ?  " 

"  Not  hide  anything?     Susan,  what  injustice  !  " 

"  You  may  try  to  hide,  but  you  don't  succeed.  Every 
one  likes  you  all  the  better  for  it,  dear  Helen." 

"  But  I  don't  like  myself;  it  is  undignified  ;  and  I  have 
hidden  a  great  deal." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt ;  every  one  must.  But  to  hide,  is  not 
your  nature,  as  it  is  that  of  some  people.  Perhaps,  though, 
I  discover  more  than  others  would,  because  we  have  known 
each  other  so  many  years." 

"  And  you  were  not  vexed  with  me  because  I  did  n't 
want  to  come  this  evening?  "  said  Helen. 

Susan  could  scarcely  refrain  from  a  smile  at  the  unre- 
served acknowledgment  implied  in  the  question.  She  thought 
for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  said,  "  I  was  vexed,  but  it  was 
not  for  myself." 

"  You  thought  I  ought  to  have  been  glad  to  come  to  meet 
Claude." 

"It  would  have, been  natural." 

Helen  was  silent ;  and  Susan  added,  "  But  you  are  come 
now,  and  it  is  all  right." 

Helen  repeated  the  word  right,  pondering  upon  it ;  then 
she  said,  "  Susan,  what  do  you  do  to  keep  yourself  always  in 
good  humour  ?  " 

"  I  can't  answer,  because  I  am  not  always  in  good  hu- 
mour." 


* 


ivoks.  297 

"  But  when  people  are  irritating." 

"There  are  a  good  many  ways,"  said  Susan,  rather 
gravely. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  ;  say  them  out ;  I  am  in  a  humour  for 
a  sermon." 

"  Which  I  don't  think  I  am,"  replied  Susan ;  "  I  have  so 
manv  other  things  to  think  about." 

"  That  is  untrue,  Susan  ;  sermons  are  never  out  of  your 
head." 

"  Eeaily,  Helen,  you  profess  to  know  much  more  about 
me  tban  I  know  of  myself." 

"I  see  it  in  everything  you  do.  Tell  me  now  how  you 
manage." 

"  It  depends  upon  the  cause  of  the  irritation,"  said  Susan. 
"  Very  often  the  fault  is  one's  own." 

"  That  makes  the  matter  worse,"  replied  Helen. 

il  In  a  certain  way,  but  it  puts  it  more  in  one's  own  power 
to  deal  with  it.  And,  Helen,  generally  speaking,  I  don't 
think  one  should  be  irritated,  if  it  were  not  for  the  wrong  in 
oneself.  One  might  be  sorry,  or  even  seriously  displeased, 
but  not  irritated." 

"  But  one  can't  be  seriously  displeased  with  a  fly  when  it 
buzzes  about  one's  ears,"  said  Helen. 

Susan  laughed,  and  answered,  "  Yet  it  would  scarcely 
be  wDrth  one's  while  to  be  out  of  temper  with  it." 

"  Granted  ;  but  how  would  you  help  it  ?  " 

"I  should  try  to  think  it  was  a  little  annoyance  Seat  en 
purpose  to  teach  me  patience;  and  (hen,  I  think,  the  irrita- 
tion would  cease." 

"Yes,  that  might  do," — Helen  spoke  earnestly;  "  but  il 
would  require  long  practice." 

"  Very  long, — a  lifetime  :  so  I  have  no  right  to  preach  a 
sermon  about  it,  having  only  just  begun." 


298  ivoks. 

"  But  if  the  fly  "were  a  lmman  fly,  and  buzzed  on  pur- 
pose?" 

"  I  should  run  away  if  I  could  ;  and  if  not "   Susan 

paused.  "  Perhaps  those  little  trials  are  meant  to  teach  us 
to  pray  at  the  moment  to  be  able  to  bear  them,  and  so  to 
make  religion  part  of  our  daily  life." 

Helen  spoke  again,  still  more  earnestly : — "  But  if  you 
felt  that  you  ought  not  to  be  irritated,  and  that  any  other 
person  in  your  place  Avould  not  be  %  " 

"  Then,  Helen,  dear,  surely  one  ought  to  try  and  find 
out  the  cause." 

"  Yes,  if  one  dared,"  said  Helen ;  her  voice  sank  as  she 
said  the  words.  After  a  moment's  silence  she  started  up : 
"  I  have  had  enough  of  preaching  now  ;  I  am  come  to  help 
you  ; — what  can  I  do  %  " 

"  Come  into  the  dining-room,  and  dress  the  Christmas- 
tree.     I  forgot,  though ;  you  have  dined,  I  hope." 

"  Why,  yes  ;  when  I  was  told  that  I  could  have  no  dinner 
here,  of  course  I  took  advantage  of  luncheon  at  home.  But, 
Susan,  how  can  you  all  put  yourselves  out  of  your  way,  as 
you  do,  for  a  children's  party  ?  " 

"We  don't,"  said  Susan.  "It  is  our  way  to  be  put  out 
of  our  way,  and  so  it  comes  quite  naturally.  You  don't 
think  we  care  for  not  having  a  regular  dinner,  do  you  %  " 

"  Not  if  the  cause  is  '  tanti,'  as  Maurice  says,"  replied 
Helen.     "  But  a  number  of  children  !  " 

"  The  most  satisfactory  cause  of  all ;  one  is  sure  to  give 
ihem  pleasure." 

"  Yes ;  but  so  you  would  if  you  bought  them  a  quantity 
of  buns,  or  gave  them  a  shilling  apiece." 

"  1  don't  agree  with  you  there.  Children  feel  heartiness 
even  more  than  grown-up  people.  They  show  it  by  the  in- 
stinct they  have  in  discovering  who  are  fond  of  them." 

"And  they  forget  it  too,"  said  Helen. 


ivoks.  299 

"  The  details,  but  not  the  general  impression.  All  the 
Wingfield  children — I  mean  those  we  know — look  to  mamma 
as  a  friend." 

"  She  does  not  mean  to  adopt  them  all,  does  she  1 "  asked 
Helen,  ironically. 

"  Xot  quite.  But  she  always  says  it  is  impossible  to  tell 
the  influence  for  good  those  early  impressions  of  kindness 

may  have.     And  besides,  for  oneself  too " 

'  Helen  interrupted  her.  "  That  is  beyond  me,  quite  ; — 
the  notion  of  its  being  good  for  oneself,  except  as  scourging 
and  fasting  might  be  good  in  the  way  of  penance.  But  I 
don't  think  that  is  quite  what  you  mean." 

Susan  laughed.  "  Certainly  I  don't  feel  to-day  very 
much  in  the  mood  for  either  one  or  the  other.  But  can't  you 
really  understand,  Helen,  the  good — I  don't  mean  good  in  a 
moral  sense, — but  the  help  and  comfort  it  is  to  have  inter- 
ests out  of  one's  own  family  ?  " 

"  Y-e-s, — I  can't  say, — I  suppose  I  have  never  tried." 

"  "When  one  is  worried — out  of  spirits,"  continued  Su- 
san, and  her  colour  changed  a  little — "  it  will  happen,  you 
know,  sometimes, — there  is  such  inexpressible  comfort  in 
feeling  that  one  has  others  to  live  for  besides  one's  own 
wretched  self." 

"  I  can  imagine  it,  if  one  had  to  go  and  nurse  a  person 
who  is  ill,"  said  Helen.  "  But  magic  lanthorns  and  games 
are  such  trifling  things.     You  must  let  me  say  it,  Susan." 

"But  they  may  open  the  doors  which  let  one  in  when 
great  things  are  needed1/'  said  Susan.  "You  would  think 
so  if  you  knew  how  all  kin<ls  of  people  come  to  mamma 
when  they  are  in  trouble,  because  slie  has  made  them  feel  at 
home  with  her  by  little  attentions  when  there  was  nothing 
the  matter.  And  I  have  heard  her  say  many  times,  that  the 
first  thing  which  roused  her  out  of  her  grief  when  papa  died, 
was  the  feeling  that,  as  she   had  one  great  claim  taken  from 


300  iyors. 

her  in  her  own  home,  more  would  he  required  of  her  out 
of  it." 

"  She  is  very  wonderful  to  me,"  said  Helen  ;  "  she  is  not 
at  all  like  the  people  one  hears  of,  who  are  running  about 
after  charitable  societies,  and  leaving  their  children  to  gov- 
ernesses." 

"  When  mamma  runs,  she  takes  us  with  her,"  said  Susan. 
"  And  I  have  been — oh !  so  thankful  for  it,  Helen." 

Helen  sat  in  silent  thought ;  then  she  said :  "  If  I  had 
the  care  of  children,  I  would  never  bring  them  up  as  I  was 
brought  up ;  but  I  should  be  afraid  of  Aunt  Fanny's  way. 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  do.  Leave  them  to  their  fate,  I 
suppose.  Kiss  me,  Susan,  and  forgive  me  ;  I  am  very  glad 
now  that  I  came."     And  they  went  down  stairs. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Helen  was  still  more  glad  before  the  afternoon  was  over. 
Simple,  easy  work  for  others,  in  which  self  could  not  possi- 
bly have  a  share,  was  new  and  pleasant  to  her,  and  brought 
out  all  the  best  parts  of  her  character.  She  laughed  at  her- 
self for  tae  amusement  which  she  confessed  could  be  found 
in  hanging  markers,  pin-cushions,  balls,  purses,  and  bonbons 
on  the  branches  of  a  tiny  tree ;  and  wondered  at  her  own 
interest  in  the  children  for  whom  they  were  designed,  and 
whose  histories  Isabella,  having  a  considerable  talent  in 
making  every-day  incidents  look  romantic,  took  pains  to  re- 
late. There  was  something  very  agreeable,  also,  in  feeling 
thivt  her  presence  was  a  new  element,  which  gave  life  to  oth- 
ers. Susan,  she  knew,  was  always  glad  to  see  her,  but  Isa- 
bella and  Anna  were  in  general  indifferent ;  whereas  now 
they  assured  her,  again  and  again,  that  it  was  delightful  to 


IVORS.  301 

have  her,  and  they  were  charmed  she  came,  they  had  never 
liked  dressing  a  Christmas-tree  so  much, — with  various  other 
innocent  little  flatteries,  very  different  from  the  laboured 
praise  and  obtrusive  deference  ottered  her  in  her  own  home. 
Moods,  irritations,  all  were  for  the  time  forgotten,  all, — until 
the  bell  rang,  and  Isabella,  with  a  smile  which  she  tried  to 
control,  said,  "  That  must  be  Mr.  Egerton,  he  told  us  he 
would  come  early." 

"  A  message  from  the  pastry-cook,  Miss  Graham,"  said 
Martha,  looking  into  the  room.  "  "Would  you  be  good  enougli 
to  see  if  he  has  sent  biscuits  enough?  "  And  Susan,  who 
superintended  the  housekeeping  arrangements,  obeyed  the 
summons. 

"  Helen,  you  have  tied  that  little  basket  so  near  the 
taper,  it  is  not  safe,"  said  Anna,  pointing  to  Helen's  last 
work.  The  basket  was  untied.  Helen  let  it  fall  upon  the 
table,  sat  down,  and  said  she  was  tired. 

'•  You  had  better  come  into  the  drawing-room  and  lie 
down  a  little,"  said  Isabella ;  but  Helen  refused. 

"How  foolish  you  were,  Isabella,  to  think  that  it  was 
Mr.  Egerton,"  said  Anna.  "  He  won't  certainly  be  here  till 
six." 

Anna  hated  roman  se,  and  was  always  a  little  cross  with 
persons  who  were  engaged  to  be  married. 

The  bell  rang  again.  "  That  is  he  ;  I  hear  his  voice," 
observed  Isabella,  after  a  few  seconds ;  and  she  listened. 

"  It  is  the  butcher's  boy,"  said  Anna,  giving  a  twist  to  a 
piece  of  string.  "Mamma  had  an  order  for  him  which  was 
forgotten  this  morning." 

"It  is  some  strange  voice,"  said  Isabella  "I  know  it 
now;  it  is  the  Admiral's  man-servant." 

I  blen  changed  colour,  and  Isabella  pushed  a  bottle  of 
salts  towards  her.  Susan  came  in.  Looking  as  though  she 
wer'  the  bearer  of  some  uncomfortable  news. 


302  ivoks. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?  I  am  sure  there  is  something 
the  matter  !  "   exclaimed  Isabella. 

"  Mr.  Egerton  can't  come,  he  is  gone  to  London,"  said 
Susan.  "  He  had  a  telegraphic  message  from  his  lawyer, 
saying  that  he  must  be  in  town  to-morrow  before  eight 
o'clock,  so  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  set  off  imme- 
diately. He  has  been  so  thoughtful  about  us ;  he  has  actu- 
ally sent  to  Dollington  for  a  man  who  can  exhibit  the  magic 
lanthorn.  The  servant  brought  a  parcel  for  you,  Helen — a 
book,  I  think.  Martha  has  taken  it  to  your  room,  she 
thought  you  were  there." 

Helen  left  the  room  without  speaking. 

There  was  silence  as  by  one  consent  till  she  was  out  of 
hearing.  Then  Isabella  said,  "  Poor  darling !  what  a  disap- 
pointment for  her !  " 

"If  it  be  a  disappointment,"  replied  Anna.  "I  doubt, 
though,  if  we  shall  not  be  the  greater  sufferers.  The  Dol- 
lington man  won't  be  half  as  good  as  Mr.  Egerton.  It  is 
certainly  excessively  provoking." 

"  Oh,  Anna,  how  shocking  !  Susan,  do  scold  her,"  said 
Isabella. 

"For  not  having  learnt  discretion?"  inquired  Susan, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

"  For  always  doubting,  as  she  does,  whether  peopl«  love 
each  other,"  replied  Isabella. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  at  all,"  said  Anna.  "  I  only  say  that 
being  in  love  is  a  very  odd  thing,  and  makes  people  very  dis- 
agreeable ;  and  that  is  why  I  don't  think  Helen  is  in  love, 
because  she  is  not  disagreeable." 

"But  she  is  eno-acred  to  be  married,"  said  Isabella. 
"  She  must  be  in  love." 

"  Well !  yes.     I  always  forget  that." 

"  But  you  ought  not  to  forget  it,  Anna,  dear,"  said  Su- 
san.     "Really,  now  and  then  you  frighten  me  by  what  you 


ivoks.  303 

say,  and  the  way  in  which  you  look  when  anything  is  said 
ahout  it." 

"Do  I?  I  don't  intend  to  look;  only  thoughts  will 
come  out, — and  Helen  is  the  very  oddest  girl  I  ever  saw.  If 
I  were  Mr.  Egerton  I  would  not  marry  her, — no,  not  if  you 
were  to  give  me  a  thousand  pounds  for  every  minute  I  had 
to  live  with  her." 

"  You  will  be  caught  yourself  some  day,  Anna,"  said  Isa- 
bella, "  and  then  you  will  understand  it  all  better." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall ;  I  don't  profess  to  be  wiser  than  other 
people ;  but  one  thing  I  know,  that  I  could  n't  marry  any 
man  whom  I  didn't  think  as  superior  to  myself  as — heaven 
is  to  earth.  I  was  going  to  say,  only  perhaps  Susan  will  call 
it  exaggeration ;  and  if  I  did  think  him  so  superior,  I  could 
no  more  fret  and  play  with  him,  and  torment  him,  as  Helen 
does  Mr.  Egerton,  than  I  could  fly." 

"  People  have  different  notions  about  what  is  requisite  for 
happiness  in  marriage,"  said  Susan,  quietly. 

"Vastly  different,"  replied  Anna,  "and  a  very  happy 
thing,  too.  There  are  not  above  half  a  dozen  men  and 
women  in  the  world  that  would  marry,  if  persons  thought  as 
I  do." 

"  And  you  know  so  well  what  is  needed,"  said  Susan, 
ironically. 

"  You  may  laugh,  Susan ;  but  you  think  the  same  at  the 
bottom  of  your  heart.  Just  consider  what  one  should  re- 
quire :  principles,  up  in  the  clouds  and  never  coining  down ; 
plenty  of  talent,  perfect  temper,  large  mindedness,  manners 
which  would  never  offend  your  taste — oh  !  loads  of  things 
besides!  and  nothing  frightfully  ugly." 

A  hand  was  laid  on  Anna's  shoulder,  and  Mrs.  Graham's 
voice  said,  '-Some  one  created  on  purpose  for  you,  my 
tlild." 

"Oh,  mamma!"      Anna  blushed  and  laughed;    "but 


SOI  IVOES. 

you  understand.     How  could  one  love  with  that  sort  of  lovo 
any  one  who  was  n't  perfect  %  " 

*  "  Perfect  in  will,  my  darling.     We  have  no  right  to  ex- 
pect more." 

Susan  turned  to  her  mother  eagerly  :  "  Thank  you,  dear 
mamma ;    you  always  know  how  to  put  one's  thoughts  into 

words." 

Anna  considered  a  minute,  and  said,  "  He  would  aggra- 
vate me  very  much  if  he  was  n't  perfect  in  action  too." 

And  Isabella  added  in  a  low  voice,  "  Where  one  loves 
very  dearly,  one  is  blind  to  faults." 

Mrs.  Graham's  comment  was  short.  "Love  in  theory 
and  love  in  practice  are  no  doubt  very  different ;  but  it  is 
well,  in  this  as  in  all  things,  to  have  the  right  theory.  If 
we  expect  too  much,  Ave  become  cynical ;  and  if  we  expect 
too  little,  we  lower  the  tone  of  our  own  minds.  Therefore, 
Susan,  having  to  choose  between  the  opinions  of  the  three 
princesses,  I  decide  for  you." 


CHAPTER   XL. 


The  parcel  was  lying  upon  Helen's  table.  She  thought  she 
knew  its  contents.  Claude  had  carried  away  from  Ivors  a 
book  Avhich  he  thought  she  might  want.  But  there  would 
certainly  be  a  note  within.  Yes,  not  only  a  note,  but  a  thick 
letter.  Her  heart  beat  quickly  with  undefined  dread.  Yet 
she  did  not  realise  what  there  was  to  fear.  She  fancied  that 
disappointment  at  Claude's  absence  was  the  cause  of  her  un- 
wunted  nervousness.  She  broke  the  seal,  and  even  then  she 
paused,  as  though  summoning  all  her  energy  to  meet  some 
foreseen  evil.  She  tore  it  open,  and  devoured,  rather  than 
read,  the  following  words  : — 


itors.  305 

(i  My  dearest  Helen," 

[A  cold  beginning  for  Claude,  but  Helen  did  not  stop  to 
think  about  it.J 

"I  have  had  a  grievous  disapointment, — a  sudden  sum- 
mons to  London.  If  I  do  not  go  to-night,  I  shall  miss  see- 
ing a  person  whom  it  is  of  the  utmost  consequence  that  I 
should  see.  My  chief  thought  has,  of  course,  been  of  you. 
I  can  provide  a  substitute  for  myself,  as  far  as  Mrs.  Graham's 
party  is  concerned  ;  but  I  cannot  help  being  selfishly  vexed 
at  missing  the  evening  with  you.  Yet  I  should  be  happier, 
ten  thousand  times  happier,  if  I  could  be  quite  certain  that 
the  vexation  would  be  shared.  It  is  a  relief  to  me  to  take 
this  opportunity  of  repeating  what  has  been  pressing  upon 
my  mind  more  and  more  since  we  have  been  parted.  In  that 
most  painful  conversation  which  you  can  scarcely  have  for- 
gotten, I  told  you  that  I  could  not  but  doubt  whether  my 
affection  was  reciprocated ;  and  you  replied  by  retaliating 
the  suspicion,  but  gave  no  answer  to  it.  It  is  not,  I  trust, 
wrong  to  feel  that  some  answer  is  required.  "Whatever  else 
may  have  passed  betwen  us  since,  on  that  one  point,  the 
foundation  of  all,  a  cloud  still  rests ;  and  you  will  scarcely 
blame  me  for  saying,  that  until  it  is  cleared  away,  my  heart 
can  know  no  rest. 

"  Helen,  I  am  writing  coldly,  but  God  knows  the  effort 
which  it  costs  me.  Only  believe  that  I  do  it  with  a  purpose. 
I  have  no  wish  to  bias  you  by  any  expression  of  my  own 
feelings.  If  I  know  anything  of  the  working  of  the  human 
heart,  I  have  often  forced  you  into  a  confession  of  affection 
belied  by  the  truthfulness  of  your  own  nature;  and  I  wish 
to  do  so  no  more.  You  cannot  doubt  my  love  ;  you  may  as 
well  doubt  the  warmth,  and  light,  and  life-giving  power  of 
the  sun.  But  I  would  pray  you,  solemnly,  earnestly,  as  in 
the  presence  of  Him  before  whom  our  binding  vows  must  be 
made,  to  examine  into  your  own. 


30  G  ivors. 

"  I  urge  the  inquiry  upon  the  highest  grounds,  because 
upon  them  alone  a  Christian's  judgment  should  be  made. 
But  I  -would  speak  to  you  also  of  your  own  happiness. 

"  When  first  you  gave  me  the  promise  which  made  earth 
a  paradise, — too  bright,  it  may  be,  for  my  safety, — you  told 
me  that  your  love  did  not  equal  mine ;  yet  I  was  contented, 
because  I  believed  that  in  owning  that  I  was  not  indifferent 
to  you,  you  were  acknowledging  the  germ  of  a  feeling  which 
must  eventually  ripen  into  love.  I  was  willing,  therefore, 
to  wait  for  it.  But  I  have  been  mistaken  ;  at  least  if  I  may 
judge  from  words,  and  looks,  and  manner.  I  repel  rather 
than  attract  you ;  and  if  this  is  so  under  present  circum 
stances,  how  will  it  be  when  we  are  married?  Can  I  make 
you  happy  ?  Love  I  will  give  you,  pure,  deep,  unwavering, 
unbounded  ;  but  if  the  love  which  I  offer  now  does  not  sat- 
isfy you,  how  will  it  be  sufficient  for  you  hereafter? 

"  I  pray  you  to  ask  yourself  the  question,  putting  aside 
every  thought  of  my  anguish,  every  regret  for  the  brief  du- 
ration of  my  happiness, — a  happiness  which  but  to  have 
known  for  a  few  weeks  will  be  a  source  of  thankfulness  to 
God  for  ever, — and  looking  only  upon  that  which  your  own 
heart  requires.  If  you  cannot  love  me,  Helen,  reject  me.  I 
will  bless  you  for  it,  because  you  will  save  yourself  from  a 
life-long  bitterness.  I  do  not  seek  for  an  immediate  answer. 
I  wish  you  to  decide  under  no  excitement,  no  constraint. 
One  thing  only  would  I  say  for  myself.  You  think  me  ex- 
acting and  imperious.  I  believe  I  am  both  by  nature  ;  Dut 
trust  yourself  to  me  as  my  wife,  and  the  highest  energy  of 
my  nature  shall  be  exerted  in  the  hourly  struggles  which, 
through  God's  grace,  will  make  me  gentle  and  tender  as  hi 
ought  to  be  to  whom  such  a  treasure  has  been  confided. 

"  I  commit  my  fate  to  you  with  unbounded  confidence. 
Whatever  your  determination  may  be,  I  shall  feel  that  it  is 
that  of  a  true  and  generous  heart,  and  no  shadow  of  blame 


IVOES. 


307 


shall  ever  through  me  be  cast  upon  you.  And  now,  farewell. 
Ask  of  me  what  you  will,  except  that  I  should  no  longer 
love  you.  One  change  only  could  effect  that  change  in  me  : 
when  lio-ht  has  been  turned  into  darkness,  and  truth  converted 
into  falsehood,  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  the  foundation  of 
my  affection  be  removed,  and  I  shall  cease  to  be, 
Yours,  for  ever, 

"  Claude  Egerton." 

"It  is*  just  possible  that  I  may  conclude  my  chief  busi- 
ness to-morrow.  I  should  then  try  to  return  for  a  few  days, 
and  go  back  to  London  again  ;  but  the  probability  is  that  I 
may  be  detained  much  longer." 

The  guests  were  beginning  to  arrive,  punctual  and  early, 
as  such  little  visitors  always  are.  Isabella  was  taking  off 
cloaks  and  boas  in  one  room  ;  Anna,  in  another,  was  talking 
as  much  nonsense  as  she  could  think  of  to  merry  boys,  and 
showing  pictures  to  shy  girls ;  Susan  was  superintending  the 
preparations  for  the  magic  lanthorn — whilst  Mrs.  Graham 
was  to  be  found  in  Helen's  room,  or  rather  standing  before 
Helen's  door,  asking  for  admittance.  It  was  delayed  for 
some  seconds ;  and  when  granted,  Helen  was  found  in  her 
morning  dress,  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  swollen  with  tears. 

Claude's  letter  lay  open  upon  the  table. 

Helen's  first  words  were  an  apology.  "  Aunt  Fanny,  you 
are  come  to  scold  me.  I  will  be  ready  in  two  minutes." 
The  light  tone  might  have  deceived  any  one  who  had  not 
looked  at  Helen's  face. 

Mrs.  Graham  answered  in  the  same  way.  "  You  have 
been  neglected,  I  am  afraid,  my  love,  in  the  confusion  ;  we 
all  forgot  that  you  are  unaccustomed  to  wait  upon  yourself. 
Susan  sliall  come  to  you  now." 

"Not  until Aunt  Fanny,  I  had  rather  be  alone  a 


308  ivors. 

little  longer."     Helen  nearly  broke  down  before  the  sentence 
■was  ended. 

Mrs.  Graham  kissed  her.  "  You  have  had  a  great  disap- 
pointment, my  darling ;  so  have  we  all." 

Helen  gulped  down  her  tears,  and  looked  in  her  aunt's 
face  with  an  expression  so  anxious,  so  pleading  for  help  and 
counsel,  Mrs.  Graham  could  not  understand  it. 

"  You  are  fretted,  my  love,  and  worn ;  perhaps  you  had 
better  remain  quiet !  Come  down  an  hour  hence,  if  you  like 
it ;  the  children  will  be  thoroughly  amused  with  the  magic 
lanthorn  till  then." 

Helen  turned  away. 

"  It  seems  hard  to  have  asked  you  to  come  when  we  had 
only  one  temptation  to  offer,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham,  "  and 
now  to  find  that  it  is  taken  away." 

"  But  it  is  not  that ;  Aunt  Fanny — Oh !  if  I  had  only 
one  friend  who  knew  me." 

Mrs.  Graham's  eye  involuntarily  glanced  at  Claude's  let- 
ter. Helen  perceived  it,  and  added  with  instant  self-com- 
mand, "  But  I  shall  be  better  presently.  If  you  will  leave 
me,  I  will  ring  when  I  want  any  one  to  fasten  my  dress.  I 
can  manage  ail  the  rest.     Indeed,  I  would  rather  be  left." 

Mrs.  Graham  lingered,  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "  You 
will  have  a  friend  soon,  I  trust,  Helen,  to  knoAv  and  kelp  you 
always." 

Helen's  lip  quivered,  and  two  large  tears  rolled  slowly 
down  her  cheek.  Yet  she  again  repeated,  "  I  would  rather 
be  left."  Mrs.  Graham  went  to  the  door,  but  before  reach- 
ing it,  she  turned  round,  and  said,  "  Helen,  darling,  though 
you  can't  talk  to  me,  perhaps  you  can  write.  Some  persons 
find  that  much  easier ; "  and  Helen  threw  her  arms  round 
her  aunt's  neck,  and  whispered,  "You  are  like  my  own 
mother ;  I  could  talk  to  you,  if  I  could  to  any  one."  And 
then  the  door  was  closed,  and  Helen  was  once  more  left  to 
her  own  thoughts. 


ivoks.  309 

And  what  were  they  ?  She  could  not  have  told  herself. 
Claude's  letter  had  thrown  no  light  upon  her  secret  feelings, 
or  rather  it  had  only  added  to  the  obscurity  in  which  even 
in  her  own  eyes  they  were  involved,  by  placing  him  before 
her  in  the  point  of  view  most  attractive  to  her  best  impulses. 

If  he  had  urged  his  love,  she  would  have  turned  from  it 
with  the  painful  consciousness  of  her  own  coldness;  but 
when  he  spoke  of  her  happiness,  he  recalled  the  grounds  ^pon 
which  she  had  originally  been  tempted  to  accept  him,  re- 
minded her  of  Lady  Augusta's  arguments,  her  father's  confi- 
dence, the  world's  admiration,  and  added  to  it  a  deepening 
and  clearer  conviction,  that  in  generosity  and  unselfishness 
Claude  Egerton's  equal  could  scarcely  be  found. 

Free,  Helen  might  at  that  moment  have  learnt  to  love 
Claude  ;  but  bound — pledged — it  was  a  fatal  mistake  :  and 
once  more  at  the  thought  of  being  united  to  him  for  ever,  the 
cold  chill  of  indifference  crept  over  her. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


Merry  were  the  shouts  of  the  children  below,  but  the  sound 
scarcely  reached  Helen's  ears.  Susan  was  sent  away  when 
she  came,  offering  to  assist  her  cousin  in  dressing.  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham was  not  admitted,  when  she  knocked  at  the  door,  to  beg 
that  if  Helen's  head  ached,  she  would  not  attempt  to  conic 
down  stairs.  Unused  to  self-control,  untaught  to  think  of 
others,  Helen  never  realised  to  herself  that  she  was  throwing 
a  damp  over  the  general  gaiety,  by  giving  way  to  her  own 
sad  and  perplexing  thoughts.  "They  can  do  very  well 
without  me,"  was  the  salve  which  soothed  her  conscience ; 
and  it  was  only  when  at  length  hei  fire  had  burnt  low,  and 
the  room  was  growing  cold,  that  she  roused  herself  to  dress, 


310  rams. 

and,  with  a  feeling  of  painful  effort  and  repugnance,  sum- 
moned resolution  to  join  the  party. 

The  children  were  gathered  round  the  Christmas-tree, 
loud  in  admiration  and  wonder  ;  Anna  and  Isabella  marshal- 
ling them  in  order,  that  they  might  see  every  thing ;  whilst 
Charlie  kept  guard  over  old  Miss  Harvey  and  her  sister, 
whom  he  had  escorted  with  no  little  pride  through  the 
streets,  and  who  were  to  be  taken  back  again  witn  all  care 
as  soon  as  their  curiosity  was  satisfied. 

Helen  paused  in  the  doorway,  the  servants  who  crowded 
it  making  way  for  her  to  pass  on.  There  were  a  few  grown- 
up people  near;  mammas,  elder  sisters,  and  governesses, 
who  had  the  charge  of  the  little  ones ;  and  amongst  these 
she  stood,  as  she  hoped  unnoticed.  She  heard  their  remarks. 
"  A  beautiful  tree  !  so  well  lighted  ;  and  such  trouble 
must  have  been  taken  in  dressing  it !  but  Mrs.  Graham  re- 
members everything  and  everybody."  "It  must  be  very 
pleasant  to  be  able  to  give  so  much  pleasure."  "  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham has  such  help  in  her  daughters.  How  nice  they  look 
this  evening !  I  have  heard  Susan  called  pretty  ;  but  I  don't 
think  she  is  that, — it  is  only  expression.  Yet,  just  look  at 
her  now.  What  a  bright  look  !  she  never  can  have  known 
much  sorrow."  "No;  a  little  while  ago  some  one  said 
she  was  quite  altered ;  but  I  don't  see  it.  It  was  at  the 
time  the  report  got  about  that  she  was  to  marry  Mr. 
Egerton." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  by  Miss  Gaunt,  an  elderly 
lady,  quick,  shrewd,  strongly  inclined  to  satire,  the  daughter 
of  one  of  the  former  rectors  of  Wingfield ;  and  they  were 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Berry,  the  wife  of  the  present  rector,  a 
sensible,  straight-forward,  middle-aged  mother  of  a  large 
family,  who  had  a  dread  of  gossip,  and  was  aware  that  Miss 
Gaunt  and  her  sister  did  not  share  the  distaste.  The  re- 
mark was  received,  therefore,  coldly ;    and  Mrs.   Berry  en- 


1V0KS.  31.1 

deavoured  to  divert  the  subject  by  some  reference  to  the  chil- 
dren. But  Miss  Gaunt  renewed  it :  "  It  all  came  to  nothing, 
as  every  one  knows ;  but  I  could  not  help  wishing  that  it 
had  been  true.  I  should  so  very  much  like  to  see  dear  Su- 
san married ;  and  they  say  that  Mr.  Egerton  is  such  a  very 
excellent  man." 

"  He  will  make  a  good  husband,  then,  for  any  one,"  said 
Mrs.  Berry,  forced  into  a  general  observation. 

"  "Well,  yes ;  but  it  doe3  seem  a  pity  that  he  should 
throw  himself  away.     He  might  do  so  much  good." 

"But  he  will,  we  trust." 

"  That  is  as  time  may  show.  Not  if  he  takes  after  Ivors. 
What  is  the  neighbourhood  the  better  for  the  Clares  ?  " 

"  Hush !     Some  one  said  Miss  Clare  was  here." 

Helen  was  going  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Berry,  and  stop  the 
conversation,  but  another  lady  edged  herself  in  between 
them,  and  prevented  it.     She  heard  Miss  Gaunt  reply : 

"  Miss  Clare  !  oh !  she  is  too  fine  to  come  down  ;  Susan 
Graham  told  me,  half  an  hour  ago,  that  she  was  not  ready. 
I  wonder  Lady  Augusta  has  allowed  her  to  be  here  this 
evening." 

"  Mr.  Egerton  was  to  have  exhibited  the  magic  Ian  thorn  , 
I  suppose  that  was  the  reason,"  replied  Mrs.  Berry. 

"  Xo  doubt !  Poor  young  man  !  Well !  I  must  say,  I 
think  he  might  have  made  a  better  choice.  They  say  he  has 
oeen  quite  taken  in  by  Lady  Augusta." 

Helen  felt  her  colour  rise ;  she  longed  to  move,  but  it 
was  impossible.  Miss  Gaunt  continued:  "  However,  he  has 
a  will  of  his  own;  one  hears  thai  through  his  servants:  and 
when  once  they  are  married,  and  he  is  away  from  Ivors,  it 
may  be  better.  Those  Clares  arc  enough  to  ruin  any  one 
with  their  exclusiveness." 

"Those  Clares!  "     Helen  instinctively  put  out  her  hand, 

and  all  but  touched   Miss  Gaunt's  arm,  to  remind  her  that 

she  was  near. 

U 


312  ivors. 

Mrs.  Berry  remarked  that  Sir  Henry  was  one  of  the  first 
men  in  the  county. 

"  Because  he  is  the  member,  I  suppose,  you  mean ;  but 
one  puts  that  aside ;  mere  political  influence  is  nothing." 

"  And  he  is  a  good  landlord,"  said  Mrs.  Berry. 

"  I  dare  say.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  that  he  is  respected 
by  the  farmers." 

"  And  he  is  a  liberal  man,  too,"  observed  Mrs.  Berry. 

"  Yes,  in  a  certain  way.  As  I  heard  some  one  observe 
the  other  day,  You  always  see  subscription  lists  headed 
by  Clares  ;  as  you  see  benevolent  institutions  patronised  by 
the  Queen." 

Mrs.  Berry  spoke  as  if  she  was  annoyed :  "  Beally,  my 
dear  Miss  Gaunt,  you  are  a  little  too  severe.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Berry  and  I  have  as  much  right  to  speak  about  Sir  Henry 
Clare's  liberality  as  any  persons,  because  so  much  of  his 
charity  passes  through  our  hands :  a  kinder-hearted  man 
there  can't  be." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Berry,  I  don't  mean  to  doubt  it.  All  I 
say  is,  that  if  Sir  Henry  Clare's  bailiff  managed  his  proper- 
ty, and  if  Lady  Augusta's  housekeeper  took  care  of  the 
Hall,  and  Lady  Augusta  and  Miss  Clare,  and  the  whole  set 
were  transported  to  the  Antipodes,  the  neighbourhood  would 
not  be  one  whit  the  worse  off;  and  there  would  not  be  half 
a  dozen  regrets  for  their  departure.  I  speak  from  what  I 
know ;  and  I  hear  a  great  deal  one  way  and  another." 

Mrs.  Berry  could  bear  this  no  longer.  She  managed  to 
move  forward,  so  as  to  escape  any  more  of  Miss  Gaunt's  ob- 
servations ;  and  Helen  moved  likewise,  and  was  seen  by  Su- 
san, and  summoned  to  admire  the  Christmas-tree. 

It  was  a  very  painful  feeling  Avhich  came  over  her,  as  she 
emerged  from  the  little  crowd  in  the  doorway,  and  felt  that 
all  eyes  were  directed  towards  her  with  curiosity.  An  hour 
before,  she  would  not  have  thought  about  herself  at  all ;  now 


IVOKS.  ol3 

there  was  an  uncomfortable  self-consciousness,  a  sensation  of 
being  apart,  different  from  every  one,  being  looked  upon 
with  suspicion.  "  Those  Clares  !  "  "  Taken  in  by  Lady 
Augusta ! "  The  expressions  haunted  her  ;  though  she 
scarcely  realised  their  full  meaning,  especially  as  regarded 
Claude.  But  she  felt  as  though  she  were  among  enemies  ; 
and  became  cold  and  stiff,  even  to  the  children,  who,  of  course, 
became  cold  and  stiff  to  her  in  return :  and  so  there  was  a 
little  restraint  creeping  over  the  party,  which  Helen  knew 
would  be*  attributed  to  herself.  She  had  not  the  spirit  or  the 
heart  to  alter  her  manner ;  she,  who  had  all  her  life  been 
amused,  had  no  idea  of  amusing  others  ;  and  at  last,  one  by 
one,  the  children  withdrew  from  the  tree,  and  she  was  left 
standing  near  it  alone  with  Susan. 

"  We  must  take  the  presents  off,  and  distribute  them, 
Susan,"  said  Anna,  coming  up  to  them.  "The  children 
have  been  looking  long  enough." 

"  Yes  ;  in  one  minute.  Helen,  you  will  help  ?  "  But 
Helen  declined. 

"  But  you  must ;  t»  great  many  of  the  names  are  in  your 
writing." 

"  I  can't  always  read  my  own  writing,  and  I  forget  the 
■"ames." 

"  Never  mind  !  "  exclaimed  Anna,  impatiently,  "  if  she 
does  n't  choose  to  do  it." 

And  Helen  drew  back  into  a  distant  corner,  solitary  and 
heavy-hearted. 

"  Helen  !  my  love,  there  is  a  lady  wishing  very  much  to 
be  introduced  to  you,"  said  Mrs,  Graham,  coming  up  to  her: 
"a  cousin  of  Mr.  Egerton's,"  was  added  in  a  lower  voice. 

Helen's  face  flushed.  "I  had  rather  not,  Aunt  Fanny. 
Must  I?     I  don't  know  her." 

"  She  is  staying  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  would 
like  it." 


314  ivors. 

"What  are  the  children  going  to  do  now?"  asked 
Helen,  abruptly. 

"  To  dance,  I  think,  in  the  next  room.  Susan  will  man- 
age for  them." 

"  She  is  so  kind  to  them.  Must  I  go  too  ?  I  would 
much  rather  sit  here  ;  my  head  aches." 

"  You  shall  do  just  as  you  like,  my  love ;  you  don't  look 
well." 

"  Susan  likes  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Helen,  in  a  wondering 
tone ;  whilst  she  watched  her  cousin  marshalling  the  chil- 
dren, and  telling  them  which  way  they  were  to  go. 

"  She  likes  giving  pleasure,  as  every  one  does." 

"  And  she  is  always  bright,"  said  Helen.  "  She  has 
even  spirits  ;  that  is  her  great  blessing." 

"  And  vou  like  it,  Aunt  Fannv,  don't  vou  !  " 

"  Yes ;  but  in  a  different  way  from  Susan.  But  every 
one  likes  it,  Helen,  that  tries  it.    Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

Helen  held  her  aunt's  hand.  "Don't  leave  me,  Aunt 
Fanny ;    it  is  a  pleasure  to  talk  to  you." 

"  My  love,  I  must ;  and  my  friend  is  waiting  for  me,  and 
for  you  too." 

"  Does  she  know  about  me  ?  "     Helen's  voice  trembled. 

"She  hopes  you  are  to  be  a  new  cousin  before  very 
long." 

"  I  can't ;  I  can't." 
,       Mrs.  Graham  looked  round.     The  room  was  empty. 

"  Aunt  Fanny,  I  can't,"  repeated  Helen. 

"Can't  what?    my  child." 

"  Be  introduced.     You  don't  understand." 

"No,  indeed,  dearest.  But  if  it  is  only  shyness,  you 
ought  not  to  give  way  to  it." 

Helen  stood  up,  then  sat  down  again ;  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  drew  forth  Claude's  letter,  put  it  into  her  aunt's 
hand,  and  rushed  away  to  her  own  room. 


ivoks.  315 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  the  guests  were  gone.  Then 
there  were  various  matters  to  be  arranged  by  Susan,  Isabella, 
and  Anna ;  lights  and  fires  to  be  extinguished,  music  to  be 
put  away,  something  like  order  restored  to  the  rooms,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  time  spent  in  discussing  the  pleasure  of  the 
evening, — the  children's  amusement,  their  curious  remarks, 
the  little  tempers  and  fancies  which  had  been  exhibited. 
One  drawback  was  acknowledged  by  all.  Even  Susan  owned 
that  she  was  disappointed  in  Helen.  She  had  given  her 
credit  for  greater  self-command ;  but  people  in  love,  she  sup- 
posed, were  to  be  judged  by  a  different  standard  from  oth- 
ers :  a  remark  to  which  Anna,  as  usual,  replied  by  a  sweep- 
ing censure  upon  all  persons  in  that  unhappy  condition. 

And  in  the  meantime,  Helen  herself  was  waiting  anxious- 
ly, yet  with  comparative  calmness,  in  her  own  apartment,  for 
the  interview  with  her  aunt,  which  she  knew  wouid  be  given 
her  before  the  evening  was  over.  She  was  calm,  because  she 
believed  that  she  had  now  placed  the  determination  of  her  fate 
out  of  her  own  Lands;  and  even  the  suspense  of  the  time 
which  must  intervene  before  ]\Irs.  Graham  could  be  expected 
to  have  leisure  to  attend  to  her,  was  nothing,  compared  with 
the  painful  indecision  which  bad  confused,  and  in  a  degree 
paralysed,  her  p.,«ver  of  thought  and  reason  before. 

Yet  when  the  gentle  footstep  was  at  length  heard,  her 
heart  beat  so  rapidly  that  she  could  scarcely  say,  "  Come 
in  ;  "  and  when  her  aunt  entered,  she  stood  up  to  receive  her, 
but  did  not  utter  a  word. 

Mrs.  Graham  had  Claude's  letter  in  her  hand.  She  laid 
it  before  Seles  without,  pause  or  preface,  and  said,  "I  have 
read  it,  my  love,  and  thank  you  for  it." 

Helen's  large,  eager  i  ted  for  a  moment  with  pain- 


31 G  ivoks. 

ful  earnestness  upon  her  aunt's  face ;  then  they  were  Lent 
upon  the  ground ;  and  in  a  low  voice  she  said,  "  And  you 
think  he  is  right  ?  " 

Mrs.  Graham,  without  at  once  answering,  drew  Helen 
gently  towards  her,  and  made  her  sit  down  ;  and  kissing  her 
fondly,  said,  "  Yes,  he  is  quite  right,  for  his  own  happiness 
and  for  yours." 

"  I  can't  answer  him,"  said  Helen ;  still  not  daring  to 
look  up. 

"  That  may  be  the  best  answer,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 
"  If  it  were  all  right  between  you,  there  would  be  no  diffi- 
culty." 

"  And  I  must  tell  him  so,"  said  Helen,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  You  must  be  true  to  him  and  to  yourself,  my  love." 

"  And  I  have  deceived  him,  and  mamma,  and  every  one ; 
and  I  must  be  lowered  in  his  eyes.  Aunt  Fanny,  help  me  ; 
I  can't  do  it." 

"  There  is  no  degradation,  my  child,  like  the  slightest 
shade  of  iaisenood.  But  you  must  not  take  what  I  have  said 
too  literally,  and  act  upon  it  hastily.  Claude  is  your  best  ad- 
viser. He  gives  you  time ;  he  wishes  you  to  prove  yourself: 
so  do  I." 

"  But  proof  is  no  proof.  I  don't  understand  myself," 
exclaimed  Helen.  "  Aunt  Fanny," — she  looked  at  her  aunt 
simply  and  trustfully, — "I  do  love  Claude.  Yes,  I  think  I 
do.  I  could  not  have  promised  him  what  I  did,  if  I  had  not 
cared  for  him;  for  I  meant  to  be  quite  sincere;  and  very 
often — no,  sometimes — I  feel  quite  as  I  know  I  ought ;  and 
I  think  him  better  and  wiser  than  any  one  else  in  the 
world ;  and  it  makes  me  miserable  when  I  give  him  pain, 
and  yet  I  can't  prevent  myself  from  doing  it.  Is  it  because 
I  am  so  to  every  one  ?  " 

"  He  jars  upon  you,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs  Graham. 

"  lie  makes  me  feel  perverse,"  replied  Helen.     "  But  a 


IVORS.  317 

great  many  people  do  that  when  they  try  to  rule  me.  Aunt 
Fanny,  why  do  you  look  so  grave  ?  " 

"Because  you  vex  me,  Helen.  You  are  throwing  away 
happiness." 

"I  need  not.  I  will  not,  if  you  tell  me  it  is  right  to 
let  everything  go  on." 

"  God  forbid ! "  Mrs.  Graham  began  eagerly,  then 
checked  herself.  "  Helen,  my  child,  no  human  being  could 
take  such  a  responsibility.*' 

"  Then  you  tell  me  it  is  not  right.  Oh !  Aunt  Fanny, 
have  pity  upon  me !     I  can  never,  never  decide." 

"  Answer  me  one  question,  Helen.  Would  the  feeling 
which  you  entertain  for  Claude  satisfy  you,  if  it  were  offered 
to  yourself?  " 

"  I — Aunt  Fanny,  he  is  a  man,  and  I  am  a  woman." 

"  Yet  you  are  both  human  beings.  But  I  will  give  you 
another  test, — action  ;  which  is  the  proof  of  all  love,  earthly 
or  heavenly.  Is  it  pleasure  or  pain  to  do  what  Claude 
wishes?" 

"  Pleasure  to  please  him  ;  not  to  obey  him." 

Mrs.  Graham  was  silent,  and  very  thoughtful. 

"Is  it  the  proof?"  continued  Helen,  in  an  altered  tone. 
"  I  can  never  like  to  obey  any  one." 

"  I  would  rather  not  answer  the  question,  my  child." 

"  Aunt  Fanny,  you  must — you  shall,  answer  it !  If 
pleasure  in  obedience  be  a  test  of  love,  I  have  no  love  in  my 
nature." 

"You  don't  know  yourself,  Helen." 

"But  I  have  always  felt  the  same,"  replied  Helen. 
"  My  life  has  been  one  continued  storm  ;  hidden,  perhaps — 
but  it  has  gone  on  when  no  one  suspected  it.  I  can  do  what 
I  am  told,  outwardly, — all  people  can  do  that;  but — like  it! 
submil  in  my  heart! — you  may  as  well  ask  me  to  chain  the 
wind  as  control  my  own  free  will. 


31S  IVORS. 

"  You  can  never  do  it  for  yourself,  Helen.  Yet  it  must 
be  done  if  there  is  to  be  peace  on  earth  or  rest  in  Heaven." 

Helen  was  struck  by  ber  aunt's  tone.  Her  own  manner 
became  more  composed  as  she  said,  thoughtfully,  "  God 
formed  us  as  we  are." 

"  Yes  ;  with  an  independent  will,  which  must  become  one 
with  His  before  we  can  find  either  goodness  or  happiness ; 
and  which  never  will  be  one  until  we  love  Him  with  a  per- 
fect love.  And  there  is  no  irreverence,  Helen,  in  tracing 
out  the  analogy  between  this  love  and  the  deepest  human 
affection,  because  it  is  done  for  us  in  the  Bible.  When  we 
love  truly,  our  will  becomes  one  Avith  that  of  the  in  lividual 
whom  we  love,  and  obedience  ceases  to  be  obedience." 

"  I  should  do  everything  Claude  wished,  if  I  were  mar- 
ried," said  Helen  ;   "  it  would  be  my  duty." 

"  If  love  cannot  make  you  do  so  before  you  are  married, 
dearest,  you  may  believe,  from  my  experience,  that  duty  will 
not  enable  you  to  do  it  afterwards.  The  obedience  which  a 
man  requires  from  his  wife  is  that  of  the  heart." 

Helen  rested  her  forehead  upon  her  hands,  and  a  bitter 
sigh  escaped  her. 

Presently  she  looked  up ;  her  face  expressed  intense  suf- 
fering. She  pressed  her  aunt's  hand,  and  said,  "  No  one  will 
ever  love  me  as  well." 

"  And  no  one  will  ever  so  well  deserve  your  love  in  re- 
turn," said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  And  I  have  done  him  grievous  wrong,"  said  Helen  ; 
"  He  will  hate  me." 

"  He  will  honour  you  for  your  truth :  but,  Helen,  you 
have  a  duty  owing  to  him, — not  to  be  hasty.  He  gives  you 
time  for  consideration,  and  you  must  use  it." 

"  I  have  considered,"  replied  Helen ;  "  and  you  have 
given  me  tests." 

"  Yet  you  may  be  mistaken.  Claude's  letter  has  drawn 
yuu  closer  to  each  other  than  you  were  before." 


ivoks.  319 

Helen  started,  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together,  and, 
hiding  her  face  on  her  aunt's  shoulder,  whispered,  "  I  am  so 
unworthy  of  him." 

"  He  will  never  reject  you  from  his  heart  for  that  ac- 
knowledgment, my  darling.  But  try  yourself.  A  week 
hence  there  will  be  less  of  this  painful  excitement ;  you  will 
be  able,  during  his  absence,  to  understand  your  own  mind  ; 
you  will  see  what  your  thoughts  turn  to ;  whether  the  know- 
ledge of  what  he  is  and  what  he  feels  for  you,  which,  I  am 
sure,  you  understand  now  better  than  you  have  ever  done, 
can  make  the  prospect  of  your  future  life  with  him  easy  and 
happy.  There  will  be  many  little  ways  of  judgng  of  the 
state  of  your  own  heart ;  and  you  are  too  sincere,  Helen,  to 
deceive  him  when  he  has  once  brought  the  question  so  plain- 
ly before  you.  All  I  would  urge  upon  you  is,  not  to  allow 
any  fear  of  giving  pain  to  prevent  you  from  being  honest 
with  him." 

"  And  you  will  not  help  me  ?  "  said  Helen,  reproachfully. 

"  Yes,  help  you  to  the  very  utmost,  but  not  decide  for 
you.  If  I  were  to  do  so,  the  responsibility  would  not  be  the 
less  yours  in  accepting  my  decision." 

Helen  sat  deep  in  thought ;  then  she  said,  "  I  shall  make 
him  very  miserable." 

"Shall  you  make  yourself  miserable  1 "  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. 

"I  don't  know  ;  I  had  rather  not  think  about  myself." 

"But  you  must,  dearest.  It  is  one  of  those  eases  in 
which,  if  we  sacrifice  ourselves,  we  must  sacrifice  others." 

"I  am  so  confused,  I  don't  know  what  I  feel,"  said 
!  Lelen. 

"Then  try  to  act; — put  before  you  all  he  wishes  you  to 
do  or  to  he  ;  endeavour  to  please  him  now  that  he  is  absent, 
as  you  would  if  he  were  present:  and  remember  that  you  are 
still  free,  in  one  sense  of  the  word, — free  to  draw  back,  by 
his  own  i  onsent." 


320  ivors. 

"  Free !  "  Helen  said  the  word  a^ain  to  herself,  antl 
there  "was  a  tone  of  moumfulness  in  the  intonation  of  her 
voice. 

"  If  you  can  strive  to  please  him  heartily,  without  a  feel- 
ing of  constraint,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  "  that  will  be  your 
truest  test." 

"  And  mamma  will  say,  what  %  "  murmured  Helen. 

"  It  is  not  a  case  either  for  parent  or  friend,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham.  "  God  will  he  your  Judge,  and  He  also  will  be 
vour  Guide." 

Helen  trembled.  "  Aunt  Fanny,  it  is  very  awful,  and  I 
am  so  wicked !  " 

"  Helen,  dearest,  you  have  one  virtue,  which  is  the  root 
of  all,— truth." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Fanny  !  no,  you  don't  know  me  ;  Claude  does 
not  either  ;  I  could  love  him  better  if  he  did."  And  Helen 
gazed  sorrowfully  at  her  aunt,  and  added,  "Truth,  if  one 
has  it,  only  helps  to  make  one  feel  that  one  is  untrue." 

"  God  bless  and  help  you,  my  darling,"  were  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's parting  words.  And  Helen  laid  her  head  on  her  pil- 
low, comforted  by  the  feeling  of  having  obtained  sympathy, 
though  still  weary  and  heart-sick  with  indeeision. 


I  sr  o  R .   S 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

The  carriage  came  for  Helen  the  nest  clay,  and  she  went 
home  :  no  one  pressed  her  to  stay,  and  neither  Isabella  nor 
Anna  expressed  regret  at  her  departure.  She  had  been  too 
much  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts  to  make  herself  agreea- 
ble. Yet  a  feeling  of  exceeding  loneliness  came  over  her,  us 
she  looked  back  and  saw  her  aunt's  sweet,  kind  face  at  the 
door,  and  felt  that  she  must  now  return  to  the  uncongeniality 
of  her  own  little  world,  and  bear  the  burden  of  her  doubtful 
heart  without  human  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Graham's  last  injunction  had  been,  "Put  aside 
your  feelings,  my  child,  and  try  yourself  by  action;"  and 
Helen,  in  accordance  with  the  suggestion,  spent  the  short 
time  of  her  drive  in  thinking  over  what  Claude  would  most 
wish  her  to  do.  He  had  talked  to  her  about  the  employment 
of  her  time,  urged  regularity,  suggested  visits  to  the  poor; 
and  if  lie  had  been  there  to  help  her,  she  might  now,  perhaps, 
have  entered  into  his  plans.  But  all  seemed  vapid  when  she 
was  to  set  to  work  by  herself.  She  thought  that  her  aunt 
expected  too  much  of  her;  and,  unused  (omental  exertion, 
soon  sank  back  into  the  wearying  reveries  upon  feeling, 
against  which  she  had  been  warned. 

Lady  Lduisa  Stuarl  and   Miss  Manners  were  looking  out 


4  IYOKS. 

for  her,  expecting  to  near  amusing  stories  of  the  aborigines 
Lady  Louisa  had  prepared  some  more  tiresome  jokes  about 
Petruchio,  and  Miss  Manners  was  ready  with  condolences  for 
his  absence  ;  but  Helen  avoided  them  both,  hurried  up  stairs 
to  her  own  room,  and  was  soon  followed  thither  by  Lady 
Augusta. 

"  You  have  had  such  a  disappointment,  my  love ;  I  can't 
say  how  vexed  I  have  been,  more  almost  for  Claude  than  for 
yourself;  he  is  terribly  cut  up  about  it,  as  he  says  in  his 
note." 

''  May  I  see  the  note,  mamma?" 

Lady  Augusta  hesitated.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  have  it 
with  me."  She  took  out  a  number  of  notes  from  a  pocket- 
book.  "  This, — no,  this  is  not  from  Claude, — it  is  Mrs. 
Hopeton's  apology  for  not  coming  to-morrow  night;  and 
there  has  been  a  request  from  Sir  John  Hume  that  he  may 
bring  a  niece ;  and  Lord  Steyne  talks  of  a  friend  who  wishes 
to  come  :  we  shall  have  quite  a  crowd." 

"  That  is  Claude's  note,"  said  Helen,  pointing  to  one 
folded  in  a  peculiar  way,  and  written  on  rather  blue  note- 
paper. 

"  How  quick  you  are  in  discovering,  my  dear  ! "  but  Lady 
Augusta  appeared  unwilling  to  produce  the  note,  till  Helen 
put  out  her  hand  for  it. 

"  It  is  a  short  note — condensed  ;  all  his  are ;  but  his  few 
words  express  more  than  volumes  from  other  people." 
Helen  read  the  note. 

"  My  dear  Lady  Augusta, 
"  A  telegraphic  message  has  just  summoned  me  to  Lon- 
don, and  I  have  not  a  minute  to  spare.  It  is  most  unfortu- 
nate, as  I  shall  not  be  able  to  be  at  Mrs.  Graham's  to-night, 
to  exhibit  the  magic  lanthorn ;  and  I  am,  of  course,  particu- 
larly vexed  in  thiukiug  of  Helen.     I  enclose  a  note  for  Sir 


IVORS.  5 

Henry  about  some  political  matters,  which  I  wished  to  have 
talked  over  with  him.  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  down 
again  ;  but  you  may  be  sure  it  will  be  the  very  first  day  pos- 
sible. You  will,  I  trust,  have  a  successful  evening;  I  wish, 
indeed,  I  could  be  with  you ;  but  I  have  foreseen  from  the 
beginning  how  it  might  be,  and  must  resign  myself  as  best  I 
may,  though  I  do  not  yet  give  up  all  hope. 

"  Very  faithfully  yours, 

"  Claude  Egerton. 

"I  have  written  to  Helen,  and  made  arrangements  for 
some  one  to  exhibit  the  magic  lanthorn  for  me." 

"  He  takes  the  world  philosophically,"  said  Helen,  in  a 
bitter  tone,  as  she  laid  Claude's  note  upon  the  table. 

"  His  mind  is  so  admirably  well-disciplined,"  replied 
Lady  Augusta.  "  He  never  allows  himself  to  be  disturbed, 
or  at  least  to  show  it." 

"  Some  people  like  the  principle  of  faith  in  affection," 
said  Helen,  sarcastically. 

"  My  love,  you  are  severe.  What  lessons  have  you  been 
learning  at  Wingfield  ?  But  I  ought  not  to  find  fault :  I 
should  remember  that  young  people  can  never  be  satisfied 
with  any  expression  of  affection." 

"  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  Claude  for  taking  thought  for 
me  and  the  magic  lanthorn  together,"  said  Helen,  again  fak- 
ing up  the  note. 

"  You  are  laughing,  my  dear ;  you  don't  really  mean  to 
be  so  unjust." 

"I  read  the  words  as  they  are  written,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  put  a  wrong  interpretation  upon  them." 

"  Ami  take  them  for  what  they  mean,  rather." 

"Why  should  much  be  said   to  me?"  continued  Lady 


6  IVORS. 


Augusta :  "  you  have  his  own  words  to  yourself  to  satisfy 
you." 

Helen  was  silent. 

And  silent  she  continued,  then  and  afterwards,  during 
the  day;  brooding  over  her  own  distracting  thoughts,  blam- 
ing Claude,  condemning  herself,  yielding,  as  she  ever  yielded, 
to  impulses  from  within,  and  influences  from  without;  jarred 
upon  by  Lady  Louisa's  tiresome  jokes;  fretted  to  irritation 
by  Miss  Manners'  stately  condolences  or  Claude's  absence; 
alarmed  by  Lady  Augusta's  keen  looks  of  surprise;  and 
startled  by  her  father's  cpiick,  though  good-tempered  reproofs 
of  her  dulness. 

Could  it  be  a  matter  of  astonishment,  if  the  great  ques- 
tion, which  was  to  decide  her  fate,  became  more  and  more 
bewildering,  and  was  thought  over,  settled,  unsettled,  settled 
again,  and  in  reality  left  to  be  determined — Helen  knew  not 
how,  and  dreaded  to  think  ? 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  on  the  day  of  the  ball.  The 
routine  of  Ivors  was  disturbed  then,  as  had  been  the  case  at 
Wiugfield,  a  few  days  before;  but  the  disturbance  was  of  a 
very  different  character,  being  managed  by  the  servants,  who 
were  bound  to  take  care  that  no  one  should  be  "put  out" 
more  than  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  therefore  kept  all 
arrangements  to  the  utmost  in  the 'background.  Lady  Au- 
gusta, indeed,  superintended  herself,  but  that  was  her  habit ; 
she  superintended  everything,  and  never  believed  that  the 
world  could  go  on  without  her ;  but  Helen  was  not  consulted, 
except  about  the  music,  and  had  a  long,  dull,  dreary  day 
with  Lady  Louisa  and  Miss  Manners,  feeling  that  she  had 
no  excuse  for  leaving  them,  and  yet  longing  more  and  more 
every  minute  to  go  to  her  own  room,  and  indulge  in  some  of 
those  "  few  more  "  thoughts  which,  although  they  prevented 
her  from  arriving  at  any  definite  conclusion,  were  becoming 
a  necessary  of  life. 


IVORS.  7 

"  It  is  a  comfort  that  balls  are  not  given  every  day,"  said 
Miss  Manners. 

The  observation  broke  a  long  silence  in  the  library, 
though  not  in  the  house,  for  the  sound  of  hammering  was 
heard  unceasingly. 

"  I  don't  think  they  interfere  much  with  us,"  said  Helen, 
quickly;  fearing  a  quotation  from  Shakspeare. 

Lady  Louisa  looked  up  from  a  novel,  and  owned  that  she 
had  been  nearly  asleep,  and  asked  what  they  were  talking 
about. 

"  Balls,"  replied  Miss  Manners.     "  Helen  likes  them." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  am  not  aware  that  I  said  so," 
replied  Helen,  shortly. 

"  But  you  implied  it,  my  love,  and  it  is  natural,  I  imagine, 
at  your  age,  when  the  fresh  spring  of  youth  and  enthusiasm 
makes  movement  delightful.  For  myself,  I  confess,  my  tastes 
lay  always  in  a  different  direction  ;  a  search  into  the  wonders 
of  creation,  which  afforded  food  for  reflecting  hours,  was  from 
infancy  my  craving." 

"  A  geological  baby,"  said  Lady  Louisa ;  "  I  wish  I  had 
seen  you." 

Helen  laughed  faintly,  and  observed  that  she  certainly 
could  not  imagine  Miss  Manners  dancing. 

"  Not  a  minuet?"  asked  Lady  Louisa. 

Aiid  Miss  Manners  answered  sharply  for  herself,  that 
minuets  had  ceased  to  be  in  fashion,  long  before  she  was  old 
enough  to  dance. 

"  I  was  thinking  whether  a  minuet  would  suit  Petruchio," 
said  Lady  Louisa.  "  If  I  remember  rightly,  he  does  not  take 
kindly  to  the  polka." 

"  Neither  for  himself  nor  for  any  one  else,  docs  he  ?  "  in- 
quired Miss  Manners.  "I  thought  I  understood  as  much 
from  some  remark  of  Lady  Augusta's  the  other  day." 

Helen  shrank  from  the  subjeel  with  irritation  and  annoy- 
ance. 


8  IVORS. 

Lady  Louisa,  observed  it,  and,  as  usual,  had  not  sufficient 
tact  or  kindness  to  overlook  it. 

"  He  does  not  interfere  with  you,  Helen,  I  hope.  I 
really  shall  be  quite  out  of  patience  with  him  in  that  case." 

Helen  appeared  not  to  hear,  and  Lady  Louisa  fancied  she 
looked  vexed. 

"  Too  bad  ! "  she  continued  :  "  A  real  Petruchio  ! 

"  Better  'twere  that  both  ol  us  did  fast," 

and  then  he  goes  away  and  leaves  }rou  to  fast  alone.     I  would 
be  revenged  upon  him." 

Helen's  pride  could  not  brook  this  ;  she  remarked,  cold- 
ly, "  That  Mr.  Egerton  and  she  quite  understood  each  other," 
and  walked  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  the  sharp  tone  of 
Lady  Louisa's  laugh. 

In  the  hall  she  encountered  her  father,  and  was  turning 
from  him,  so  as  not  to  speak,  when  he  stopped  her.  "  What ! 
running  away  from  me,  my  child  ?  I  have  scarcely  seen 
you  this  morning.  A  dull  day,  I  am  afraid,"  and  he  kissed 
her, — "  but  we  must  try  to  be  merry  for  the  sake  of  others." 

'•  "We  shall  do  very  well,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Helen,  in 
a  light  tone,  which  effectually  repelled  sympathy. 

"  It  was  too  bad  of  Claude,"  continued  Sir  Henry ;  "  or, 
I  suppose  one  must  say  of  his  lawyer.  I  don't  believe,  my- 
self, that  there  was  any  necessity  for  his  going.  I  know  the 
business  they  make  such  a  fuss  about.  It  was  one  of 
Claude's  crotchets,  to  meet  that  particular  individual  on  that 
particular  day ;  but  I  am  certain  it  might  all  have  been 
done  as  well  by  writing.  You  musn't  let  him  be  crotchety, 
Helen.  He  is  too  young  to  begin  in  that  line."  Sir  Henry 
patted  his  daughter  on  both  cheeks,  and  went  to  his  own 
room. 

Helen  went  to  hers.     For  the  next  half  hour  she  might 


IVORS.  9 

Lave  been  heard  walking  up  and  down,  with  somewhat  of  a 
man's  restlessness ;  then  she  took  up  a  pen  and  wrote, — 

"  I  cannot  give  you  the  answer  you  require,  my  mind  is 
full  of  perplexity ;  but  I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  that  I  shall 
never  make  you  happy,  and  therefore  it  is  better  we  should 
part."  The  pen  was  thrown  down,  when  Helen  had  gone  so 
far,  whilst  pressing  her  forehead  tightly,  as  though  to  still  the 
working  of  her  brain,  her  eye  retraced  the  words;  then  open- 
ing a  private  drawer  in  her  desk,  she  took  Claude's  lettei 
from  it,  and  laid  it  beside  her. 

"  My  lady  wishes  you  to  come  down  into  the  hall,  if  you 
please,  Mademoiselle;  "  said  Annette's  voice  at  the  door. 

It  was  immediately  followed  by  Lady  Augusta's.  "  Hel- 
en, my  love,  may  I  say  one  word  to  you  ?     Are  you  busy  ?  " 

Helen  unfastened  the  door. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  you,  my  dear,  but    I   wanted 

to  ask  your  opinion but  you  are  writing  for  the  post." 

Lady  Augusta's  eyes  fell  with  a  scrutinizing  glance  upon 
the  table. 

"  It  is  nothing,  it  need  not  go  to-day,"  said  Helen,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  But  you  are  desirous  it  should,  I  sec.  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  so  engaged,  but  Claude  will  be  anxious  to  hear 
from  you." 

Helen  longed  to  be  able  to  say  that  she  was  not  writing 
to  him. 

"  I  will  keep  my  business  till  presently,"  continued  Lady 
Augusta ;  "  though  one  thing  I  may  as  well  say  now  :  I  am 
anxious  to  know  how  matters  stand  with  ;you  about  the  ball. 
Does  Claude  still  think  of  keeping  you  under  his  loving  re- 
straint ?  " 

Helen  broke  in  upon  the  sentence  :  "  Mamma,  Claude 
will  neve;  keep  me  under  restraint  any  more  ;  we   are  part- 


10  IVORS. 

ed," — she  leaned  her  head  upon  the  table,  and  burst  intc 
tears. 

"  Parted  !  Helen  !  can  you  dare  ?  " — Lady  Augusta's 
eyes  sparkled, — but  with  one  moment  of  self-recollection  her 
manner  changed.  She  took  Helen's  hand  in  hers.  "  There 
is  some  misunderstanding  in  this,  my  love." 

"  There  has  been  a  misunderstanding  from  the  begin- 
ning," said  Helen,  recovering  herself,  and  speaking  with  dig- 
nity ;   "  we  were  never  intended  for  each  other." 

"  Nonsense !  my  dear  ;  begging  your  pardon,  simple  non- 
sense !  "What  is  it  all  ?  Let  me  hear  whose  fault  it  is." 
Lady  Augusta  sat  down,  tapping  the  table  with  a  paper 
knife,  as  though  she  would  fain  have  beaten  the  words  out 
of  Helen's  mouth. 

"  It  is  no  fault ; — yet,  I  suppose  it  is  mine, — it  will  be 
called  mine,"  said  Helen,  proudly. 

"  Because  you  have  provoked  him,  silly,  infatuated  child  ! 
You  have  treated  him  as  you  have  done  every  one  from 
childhood.  I  saw  how  it  would  be.  I  felt  you  were  casting 
away  all  the  advantages  for  which  I  had  laboured." 

The  conversation  heard  on  the  evening  of  Mrs.  Graham's 
party,  flashed  upon  Helen's  recollection.  In  an  instant  it 
came  to  her  with  its  full  meaning.  She  started  from  her 
seat,  and  exclaimed  :  "  Then  you  have  laboured,  mamma ! 
The  world  is  right,  and  Claude  has  been  entrapped." 

There  was  one  moment's  pause.  Lady  Augusta's  reply 
came  forth,  slow,  measured,  soft,  and  mournful  : — •'  Yes,  en- 
trapped, if  you  so  please  to  call  it ;  brought  by  the  ordering 
of  Providential  circumstances  into  close  intercourse  with 
one  as  fair  as  she  is  false  and  weak ;  made  to  rest  his  happi- 
ness upon  her,  and  then  deceived.  Helen,  you  have  cruelly 
disappointed  me." 

"  Not  as  I  have  disappointed  myself,"  replied  Helen, 
"  nor  " — her  voice  shook, —  "  as  I  have  disappointed  Claude." 


IVORS.  .11 

"  Does  he  say  so  ?  "  asked  Lady  Augusta,  sarcastically, 
her  eye  turning  to  the  letter  in  Claude's  handwriting,  which 
was  by  Helen's  side. 

Helen  would  not  see  the  unspoken  request,  that  it  might, 
be  read  ;  she  only  replied  :  "  He  requires  of  me  more  than 
I  can  give,  and  therefore  it  is  better  we  should  part." 

"  Helen,  you  are  too  idiotic  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Augusta. 
':  How  many  wives  do  you  think  give  their  husbands  what 
you  would  call  their  full  affections  before  they  are  married?" 

"  Aunt  Fanny  thinks  that  I  am  right,"  said  Helen. 

Lady  Augusta  did  not  instantly  trust  herself  with  a  re- 
ply ;  when  she  did,  she  drew  near  Helen,  laid  her  hand  upon 
her  arm,  with  a  firm,  painful  pressure,  and  said,  speaking  be- 
tween her  half-closed  lips  :  "  This  is  the  first  and  last  time, 
Helen,  that  Mrs.  Graham  comes  between  you  and  me." 

"  She  is  my  aunt,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  I  am  your  mother.  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  I 
hold  your  mother's  place." 

Helen's  fingers  were  tightly  clenched  together,  as  she  re- 
plied, "  My  father  shall  be  my  judge." 

"  Let  him  be.     He  will  bear  none  of  this  folly." 

'  He  will  let  me  fee  free,"  said  Helen;  and  she  added 
sarcastically  :  "  he  at  least  has  not  laboured  for  my  advan- 
tage, and  so  will  have  nothing  to  regret." 

"  I  bear  with  your  taunt,  Helen.  I  might  have  expected 
no  less.  Gratitude  has  always  been  a  stranger  to  your 
heart." 

"  No,  mamma  ;  never.  I  have  been  grateful  to  you ;  1 
am  grateful ;  for  your  care,  and  your  kindness  and  instruc- 
tion ;  for  things  which  I  never  could  have  had  without  you  ; 
but  I  am  not  grateful  for  having  been  made  a  plaything,  a 
tool — having  the  eyes  of  the  neighbourhood  turned  upon  me 
in  derision.  Mamma,  if  you  will  not  1><'  proud  for  me,  I  will 
be  proud  for  myself.     Byyour  <n\u  acknowledgment  Claude 


1 2  IVOKS. 

has  not  been  free  in  tins  matter.  It  is  my  will  that  he 
should  be ;  and  from  this  moment  I  restore  him  his  liberty." 

She  took  up  her  pen.  and  wrote  again.  Lady  Augusta 
stood  by  with  folded  hands,  watching,  as  sentence  after  sen- 
tence followed  rapidly.  When,  at  length,  Helen's  name  was 
signed,  Lady  Augusta  laid  her  hand  upon  the  paper,  and 
said  :  "  It  is  for  your  father's  perusal." 

She  expected  a  burst  of  passion,  but  Helen's  answer  was 
calm  :  "  It  is  intended  for  him  to-morro'v." 

And  Lady  Augusta,  leaving  the  letter  in  Helen's  pos- 
session, departed  without  another  word. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Brilliantly  gay  was  Ivors  on  the  evening  of  the  long  ex- 
pected ball.  London  workmen  had  fitted  up  the  hall  for 
dancing ;  artistic  taste  had  hung  the  walls  with  rich  drapery, 
and  decorated  them  with  evergreens  and  flowers,  and  bright- 
ened  the  long  rooms  by  silver  sconces,  and  gorgeous  chande- 
liers. It  was  a  scene  of  fairy  land,  magic  in  its  beauty ; 
room  opening  into  room  ;  mirror  reflecting  mirror ;  a  maze 
interminable  of  light  and  colour ;  and  through  these  dazzling 
apartments  wandered  Lady  Augusta  Clare,  queen-like,  in  a 
dress  of  rich  dark  velvet,  and  a  rnasriincent  shawl  of  Brus- 
sels  lace,  fastened  by  a  diamond  brooch.  Yet  the  cares  of 
her  domestic  kingdom  sat  heavy  upon  her  head.  She  re- 
marked everything,  knew  whether  everything  was  in  its 
right  place,  but  it  was  by  instinct  only.  Even  when  she 
gave  her  final  decisive  orders,  her  heart  was  not  in  her  words. 
There  was  a  marked  nervousness  in  her  manner,  as  though 
she  dreaded  some  startling  news,  or  some  painful  interview. 


IYOK3.  Id 

"  Is  Sir  Henry  in  his  study,  Marks  ?  "  was  her  question 
at  last  to  the  servant  who  had  been  following  her  footsteps, 
and  executing  her  commands. 

"  Sir  Henry  went  to  his  room  about  half  an  hour  ago, 
1113-  lady.      I  don't  know  whether  he  has  come  down  again." 

"  G-o  and  see ;  "  and  Lady  xVugusta  sat  down  wearily  in 
an  arm-chair  by  the  fireside,  and  in  her  splendid  drawing- 
room,  sighed  a  real,  hearty  sigh,  in  which  there  was  no 
striving  for  effect. 

Marks  was  gone  a  loner  time,  but  Lady  Ausrusta  was 
patient ;  except  that  every  now  and  then  she  raised  her  head 
quickly,  as  a  figure  passed  the  open  door  at  the  further  end 
of  the  room. 

Presently  there  came  one  which  did  not  pass,  but  paused, 
looked  into  the  apartment,  evidently  not  seeing  that  it  was 
occupied,  entered,  and  stood  for  a  few  seconds  under  the  glass 
chandelier. 

A  very  lovely  face  and  form  it  was, — perfect  in  grace, 
attractively  sweet,  though  with  somewhat  of  proud  sadness 
in  its  expression  ;  but  when  Lady  Augusta  said  "  Helen  !  " 
there  was  a  sudden  start, — the  whole  countenance  changed ; 
a  fierce,  fiery  glance  flashed  like  lightning  over  it,  and  Helen 
turned  away,  and  walked  slowly  out  of  the  apartment. 

Two  hours  afterwards  the  rooms  were  crowded ;  dancing 
had  begun;  laughter,  and  conversation,  and  music  mingled 
their  joyous  and  inspiriting  tones;  and  Lady  Augusta  Clare, 
as  she  sailed  from  room  to  room,  speaking  kindly  words,  and 
distributing  gracious  smiles,  was  looked  upon  with  admiration, 
envy  and  respect.  Externally,  indeed,  there  was  everything 
to  exhilarate  her.  Heterogeneous  as  the  ingredients  of  her 
party  were,  she  yet  contrived  to  assimilate  them,  by  her  own 
judicious  tact.  On  this  one  evening  she  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten exclusiveness,  and  the  dread  of  contamination,  and  to 
be  able  to  throw  herself   into   the   minds  and    sympathies  of 


14  IVORS. 

persons,  with  whom  in  general  she  would  have  professed  to 
have  no  one  idea  in  common. 

For  everything  that  Lady  Augusta  Clare  thought  it  wise 
to  do,  she  considered  it  also  wise  to  do  well ;  everything  ex- 
cept   ;  but   why  find   fault  with  her  for  an  exception, 

common  more  or  less  to  all  ?  why  complain  of  her  principle, 
when  in  fact  she  was  perfectly  consistent  ?  Lady  Augusta 
did  not  really  thiuk  it  worth  while  to  labour  for  Heaven  as 
she  did  for  earth  ;  and  therefore  she  was  but  carrying  out 
her  motives  into  action,  when  she  left  the  work  of  Heaven  to 
circumstances. 

"  Sitting  still,  dear  Susan  ?  how  does  that  happen  ?  "  Lady 
Augusta  placed  her  hand  on  Susan  Graham's  shoulder  with  a 
gentle  tenderness,  which  was  quite  maternal. 

"  I  have  been  dancing  a  good  deal,  and  I  am  tired,"  was 
Susan's  reply  ;  "and  besides,  I  think, — are  n't  they  going  to 
try  the  polka  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see !  and  your  dear  mother,  I  know,  is  par- 
ticular. But  young  people  are  not  all  as  well  disciplined  as 
yourselves,  and  are  apt  to  be  rebellious  in  these  matters. 
Have  you  seen  Helen  lately?" 

Lady  Augusta  looked  at  the  circle  forming  for  the  dance 
with  an  anxious  eye. 

Helen  was  talking  to  Captain  Mordauut  just  now,"  said 
Susan  ;   "  she  was  near  the  conservatory." 

"  Are  you  enquiring  for  Helen  ?  "  asked  Miss  Aubrey 
who,  with  Mr.  Frank  Hume,  was  standing  quite  close  to 
Susan,  waiting  for  the  polka  to  begin.  "  She  has  been  un- 
dergoing an  ordeal  of  bantering  from  her  brother  and  Lady 
Louisa.  It  really  is  too  bad  of  them  to  tease  her  as  they  do, 
only  that  she  is  quite  a  match  for  them.  She  is  in  a  most 
strange  mood  to-night. 

"  Maurice  is  very  provoking,"  exclaimed  Lady  Augusta  ; 


IVORS.  15 

"  I  must  go  and  stop  him."  She  moved  away  with  a  more 
hasty  step  than  usual. 

Miss  Aubrey  laughed.  "  Lady  Augusta  will  have  a 
difficult  task  if  she  means  to  protect  Helen  from  observation. 
Every  one  is  wondering  at  this  new  fancy  of  hers." 

"  Oh,  about  dancing  !  "  and  Susan  opened  her  eyes  with 
a  look  of  sudden  and  astounded  perception,  which  seemed  to 
increase  Miss  Aubrey's  amusement,  as  she  turned  away,  and 
whispered  to  her  partner,  "  Saintly  individuals  who  live  in 
the  cloud's  ought  not  to  venture  into  a  ball-room." 

Susan  was  unconscious  of  giving  rise  to  satire:  she  was 
thinking  of  Helen  ;  feeling  for  her  annoyance ;  wondering 
whether  Claude  Egerton  was  quite  right ;  wondering  still 
more  that  Helen  should  not  have  had  sufficient  tact  to  keep 
her  own  secret.  She  fell  into  a  reverie,  undisturbed ;  for 
the  fireplace  was  on  one  side  of  her,  and  Isabella  on  the  other, 
very  much  amused  in  watching  the  dancing,  and  not  troubling 
herself  to  interrupt  her. 

A  sharp  voice  broke  in  upon  her  meditations  :  "  Miss 
Graham,  you  are  quite  in  the  fashion  in  sitting  down." 
Lady  Louisa  Stuart  had  seated  herself  by  Susan's  side. 

"  Rather  the  contrary,  to  judge  by  appearances,"  replied 
Susan.     "It  is  very  amusing  to  look  on." 

"  It  must  give  you  a  pleasant  feeling  of  superiority  ;  yet 
I  wonder  you  don't  retire  with  Helen.  I  have  been  trying 
to  persuade  her  that  we  arc,  none  of  us,  good  enough  for  her." 

"  And  she  is  not  inclined  to  take  your  advice,  I  suppose," 
said  Susan,  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

"  She  likes  to  be  peculiar,  as  she  always  does.  I  have 
been  taxing  her  with  the  cause,  but  she  won'i  acknowledge 
it."  Lady  Louisa  looked  scrutinisingly  at  Susan  ;  but  the 
glance  which  met  hers  gave  no  reply  to  the  question  implied. 

"I  should  have  thought,"  continued  Lady  Louisa,  "  that 
there  was  some  hidden  influence  at  work,  but  that 


16  IVOKS. 

'  Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible 
Than  arc  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails ;  ' 

and  there  is  neither  softness  nor  feeling  in  making  the  poor 
child  a  mark  for  general  observation  in  this  way." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Egerton  trusted  too  much  to  the  world's 
kindness,"  said  Susan,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  then  he  is  at  the  bottom  of  it !  I  thought  so  :  " 
and  Lady  Louisa's  countenance  lighted  up  with  amusement : 
"  I  was  sure  you  would  be  able  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Susan  felt  so  vexed  with  herself  that  she  could  almost 
have  cried ;  yet  she  showed  very  little  annoyance,  and 
answered  coolly,  "  Whatever  you  may  wish  to  know,  Lady 
Louisa,  I  must  refer  you  to  Helen  herself." 

"  Thank  you,  no  occasion  for  that ;  between  ourselves, — 
I  would  not  have  Helen  told  of  it, — Miss  Manners  and  I 
have  a  little  bet  depending  upon  the  matter.  We  were  sure 
Petruchio  had  been  at  work."  Lady  Louisa,  in  her  youth- 
ful lace  dress,  swept  across  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
apartment,  where  Miss  Manners  and  Sir  John  Hume  were 
discussirjg  some  geological  curiosities  lately  found  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

Susan  watched  her, — saw  the  smile  of  understanding — 
the  satirical  glance, — and  then  observed  Lady  Louisa  pass 
on,  whispering  her  observations  to  one  and  the  other,  whilst 
curious  eyes  were  directed  to  the  doorway,  near  which  Helen 
still  stood  with  her  brother  and  Captain  Mordaunt.  Mrs. 
Graham's  eyes,  also,  were  bent  in  the  same  direction ;  and 
after  a  few  seconds  she  followed  Lady  Louisa,  and  went  up 
to  the  spot  where  Helen  was  standing,  like  a  chafed  lioness, 
proudly  warding  off  the  darts  aimed  at  her,  yet  stung  by 
them  to  the  quick. 

"  My  love,  you  must  be  tired  of  standing ;  there  is  a  seat 
by  Susan  ;  won't  you  come  ?  " 

A  moment  before.  Helen's  look  and  tone  had  been  sati- 


IVORS.  1  t 

rical  and  contemptuous;  it  changed  in  an  instant,  when  Mrs. 
Graham  spoke;  but  she  said,  carelessly,  "  Thank  you,  no ;  I 
do  very  well  here.'1 

"  And  Miss  Clare  is  going  to  be  my  partner,"  said  Cap- 
tain Mordaunt. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  may  not  dance  at  all.  Aunt  Fanny,  I 
think  I  will  come  with  you;  "  but,  instead  of  joining  Susan, 
Helen  turned  suddenly  away,  and  crossed  the  ante-room  to 
the  conservatory.     Mrs.  Graham  followed. 

The  conservatory  was  empty.  Helen  sat  down  at  the 
farthest  extremity.  "  That  music  !  oh,  to  be  out  of  its 
reach  !  "     She  put  her  hand  to  her  ear. 

"  You  are  nearly  so  now,  and  you  may  stay,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"  And  it  is  better  for  me  that  I  should.  Yet  I  can't ;  I 
must  go  back  again  ;  "  and  Helen  half  rose. 

Mrs.  Graham  stopped  her.  "  What  does  all  this  mean, 
Helen  ?  " 

"  I  am  noticed ;  I  have  made  myself  remarkable ;  he 
made  me  do  it." 

"  He  trusted  to  your  own  tact  and  discretion,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham,  reproachfully. 

"  It  is  cruel :  he  ought  to  have  known  what  it  would  be. 
And  that  woman,  Lady  Louisa  !  " 

"  You  will  not  place  yourself  at  her  mercy,  Helen  ?  " 

"  I  am  at  no  one's  mercy,"  exclaimed  Helen,  hastily. 
':  Aunt  Fanny,"  and  her  voice  sank,  "  I  have  resolved  to  be 
free." 

There  was  no  immediate  reply.  Helen  repeated  the 
words,  looking  at  her  aunt  steadily;  and  then  Mrs.  Graham 
said,  sorrowfully,  "  I  feared  it  might  be  so." 

Helen   went   on   with  rapidity  ;   "  I  could  not  do  as  you 

told  me, — I  could  do  nothing.     I  don't  know  why  I  have 

decided,  but  I  have,     lie  has  no  right  to  control  me;  I  could 

tell  Lady  Louisa  8  >,  if but,  Aunt  Fanny,  I  can't." 

15 


18  IVORS. 

"  Of  course  you  can't.  Explanations  with  her  would  be 
quite  out  of  place." 

"  She  finds  out  everything.  She  has  been  guessing  and 
teasing,  and  she  has  set  Maurice  to  tease ;  and  I  have  laugh- 
ed with  them,  as  if  I  did  not  care ;  but  I  can't  help  caring. 
There  would  be  one  easy  way  of  silencing  them  all." 

"  By  doing  what  they  wish,  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. 

"  Yes,  showing  them  that  it  is  all  nothing ;  and  that  I 
am  not  bound  now,  although  they  think  I  am." 

"  Pardon  me,  Helen,  I  should  say  you  are  bound."  Mrs. 
Graham's  face  showed  surprise  and  displeasure. 

(:  What !  when  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  it  shall 
all  be  at  an  end  ?  " 

"  What  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  do  is  not  the 
question.  Is  it  done  ?  Have  }tou  had  an  explanation  with 
Mr.  Egerton  ?  " 

Helen  twisted  the  rings  of  her  gold  chain  with  the  petu- 
lance of  a  petted  child. 

"  Till  you  have,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham,  "  you  can't 
possibly  consider  yourself  free.  And,  Helen,  I  can  scarcely 
believe  that  you  wish  it." 

Helen's  face  changed ;  pride  and  temper  contended  with 
an  expression  of  inward  suffering.  She  evaded  a  direet  re- 
ply, and  exclaimed :  "  He  wrote  to  mamma ;  there  was  no 
feeling  for  me  in  what  he  said.  It  is  his  own  wish,  Aunt 
Fanny ;  "  as  the  words  were  uttered,  Helen's  conscience  re- 
proached her  for  untruth,  and  she  added :  "  At  least  you 
would  think  so,  if  you  were  to  read  his  words." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  judge.  It  is  quite  impossible  indeed, 
my  dear  child,  that  I  should.  All  I  entreat  of  you  is  to 
command  yourself.  A  very  little  self-respect  will  conquer 
sarcasm." 

Helen's  pride  was  wounded.     She  said  bitterly,  "  It  may 


IYOTJS.  19 

seem  a  small  trial,  but  an  insect's  sting  may  cause  as  much 
irritation  as  a  serpent's :  Lady  Louisa  is  unbearable." 

"  Dearest  Helen,  think  only  of  what  is  your  plain  duty." 

"  Claude  should  not  have  exposed  me  to  observation," 
replied  Helen,  sharply. 

It  was  Mrs.  Graham's  turn  then  to  be  vexed.  She  rose 
and  walked  towards  the  door  of  the  conservatory. 

"  Aunt  Fanny  !  "  Helen's  tone  was  softened,  as  she  fol- 
lowed and  tried  to  detain  her  aunt,     "  You  are  ashamed  of 


me." 


"  Grieved  for  you  rather,  Helen.  You  have  noble  and 
generous  feelings,  but  you  are  too  weak  to  act  upon  them." 

"  Weak  !  yes,  I  am  weak,"  exclaimed  Helen,  passion- 
ately :  "  weak  in  having  ever  consented  to  place  myself  in  a 
position  in  which  any  man  could  dictate  to  me." 

Mrs.  Graham  turned  and  kissed  her  sorrowfully,  but  she 
.said  no  more. 

Helen  lingered  in  the  conservatory  but  a  few  moments 
longer  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Graham  saw  her  again,  a  quadrille 
had  been  just  formed,  and  she  was  standing  with  Captain 
Mordaunt  prepared  to  take  part  in  it. 

It  was  nearly  supper-time.  Lady  Augusta  came  up  to 
Mrs.  Graham,  with  symptoms  of  a  tempestuous  current  un- 
derneath her  bland  exterior  :  "  You  have  great  influence  with 
Helen;  do  you  think  you  can  prevail  upon  her  to  do  what 
her  father  wishes  ?  I  say  nothing  of  myself."  The  tone  was 
painfully  bitter. 

"I  don't  understand "  began  Mrs.  Graham. 

"I  have  no  time  for  explanations,  but  perhaps,  as  she 
confides  entirely  in  you,  you  would  have  the  goodness  to  urge 
u p "ii  her  attention  to  her  father's  guests." 

Lady  Augusta  walked  away:  Mrs.  Graham  said  quietly 
to  Isabella,  who  had  just  sat  down  by  her,  "Lady  Augusta 
is  annoyed  ;    where  is  Helen?" 


20  IVOES. 

"  There,  opposite,"  said  Isabella.  "  You  see  the  circle, — 
Lord  Steyne,  and  Miss  Aubrey,  and  Lady  Louisa,  and  the 
Humes.  I  heard  Lady  Augusta  say  just  now  to  Helen  that 
people  were  becoming  dull,  and  that  she  ought  to  exert  her- 
self. But,  mamma,  Helen  will  go  her  own  way  to-night,  as 
she  does  always.  How  Lady  Louisa  is  laughing.  And  La- 
dy Augusta  looks  so  angry,  standing  in  the  distance." 

There  was  a  discussion  going  on  about  a  raise  a  deux 
temps  which  was  to  be  tried,  and  in  the  meantime  the  music 
had  ceased. 

Lady  Augusta  joined  the  group,  and  spoke  in  rather  a 
low  voice  :  "  This  really  won't  do,  you  must  mix  yourselves 
more." 

Captain  Mordaunt  put  up  his  eye-glass,  and  surveyed  the 
room.  "  Your  ladyship  need  not  be  uneasy.  We  are  afford- 
ing quite  sufficient  entertainment  for  the  aborigines." 
"  I  had  forgotten  them,"  said  Helen,  carelessly. 
"  You  have  done  nothing  to-night  to  make  yourself  agree- 
able, Helen,"  observed  Lady  Augusta,  "  and  your  father  is 
vexed  with  you." 

Helen's  face  flushed  at  the  reproof. 

"  I  see  what  people  think,"  continued  Lady  Augusta.  "  It 
was  all  very  well  at  first ;  bat  they  are  herding  together  now 
in  sets.  This  kind  of  thing  can't  be  allowed." 
"  I  can  do  nothing  to  prevent  it,"  said  Helen. 
"  You  must,  my  love.  If  you  don't  choose  to  dance  with 
the  people,  you  must  talk  to  them.  Maurice,  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  ask  that  Miss  Dawson  to  dance." 

"  Was  I  ?  I  had  forgotten ;  but  it  can't  be  now ;  we 
must  have  the  valse  first,  it  has  been  ordered." 

And  Maurice  languidly  turned  away,  as  though  he  had 
settled  the  matter  by  a  conclusive  argument,  and  added; 
"  Now,  Helen,  say  you  will  stand  up." 

"  It  is  not  the  polka,"  said  Lady  Louisa,  "  so  there  is  no 
broken  vow." 


IYOKS.  21 

Helen  changed  colour ;  but  Lady  Augusta  spoke  before 
she  could  answer.  "  I  can  have  no  nonsense  of  this  kind ;  a 
couutry  dance  will  put  every  thing  right,  and  then  we  will 
have  supper." 

Maurice  held  up  his  hands  in  despair.  "  Down  the  mid- 
dle and  up  again  !  one  should  faint  before  one  had  reached 
the  end.  Come,  Helen,  set  the  fashion  of  the  valse  and 
every  one  will  follow  it." 

"  And  we  will  not  tell  upon  you,"  said  Lady  Louisa. 
"  Sir  Joh'n,  Lord  Steyne,  Jane,  my  dear,  we  ian  all  vow  it 
was  not  the  polka." 

"  Maurice,  order  supper  immediately,"  exclaimed  Lady 
Augusta.  "  Louisa,  this  is  absurd.  Helen,  I  wonder  you 
allow  it." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Lady  Louisa,  "  why  not  ? 

'He  does  it  under  name  of  perfect  love.'" 

"  Whatever  the  name  may  be,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
haughtily,  "  Helen  understands  the  feeling,  and  values  it. 
Lord  Steyne,  may  I  ask  you  to  take  Lady  Louisa  into  the 
supper-room  ?  " 

Lady  Louisa  was  silent,  but  a  contemptuous  smile  curled 
her  lip. 

Lord  Steyne  offered  her  his  arm.  Miss  Aubrey  and  Sir 
John  Hume  followed  the  move,  and  in  a  few  seconds  there 
was  a  general  rush  to  the  supper-room. 

ilden  seized  Lady  Augusta's  hand,  and  spoke  in  a  low 
tone  :  "lam  going  to  bed  ;   I  can't  bear  this." 

"  Out  of  the  question,  my  love.  You  have  scarcely  taken 
notice  of  any  one,  and  it  will  be  so  remarkable." 

"I  am  remarked  already:  Mamma,  when  next  you 
speak  of  me,  I  must  beg  that  you  will  not  answer  for  my 
feeling3."  Without  giving  Lady  Augusta  time  to  reply,  she 
moved  away. 


22  ivoes. 

The  crowd  stopped  the  doorway,  and  she  could  not  escape. 
Captain  Mordaunt  came  up,  and  asked  if  he  might  take  her 
in  to  supper,  and  she  mechanically  accpiiesced. 

They  moved  op  slowly,  and  after  going  a  few  paces,  Helen 
sat  down  upon  ?.  bench  to  wait.  There  was  a  hubbub  of 
voices,  and  the  band  was  still  playing  in  the  hall,  where 
Maurice  had  remained,  bent  upon  trying  the  valse  a  deux 
temps. 

"  Carriage  wheels  !  "  said  Captain  Mordaunt.  "  People 
are  going  early." 

Holen  listened,  but  heard  nothing,  except  the  babel  of 
sounds  immediately  around  her. 

Some  one  near  mentioned  Mr.  Egerton's  name.  Captain 
Movdaunt  asked  when  he  was  expected. 

Helen  did  not  know ;  he  might  come  any  clay.  Her 
manner  was  short  and  ungracious. 

Just  then  Maurice  appeared  from  the  hall.  As  soon  as 
he  caught  sight  of  them,  he  came  up.  "  What !  Not  gone 
into  supper  yet  ?.  that's  capital.  I  must  have  you  back  again. 
There  are  just  a  few  of  our  own  set  left." 

"  Hopeless,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Captain  Mordaunt,  glanc- 
ing at  Helen.  She  scarcely  heard  him ;  her  ear  had  again 
caught  the  sound  of  Claude's  name. 

Several  servants  entered  the  passage,  and  there  were  in- 
quiries for  Lady  Augusta.  She  issued  from  the  supper-room 
radiant  in  smiles.  Pier  eye  fell  upon  Helen,  and  she  came 
up  to  her.  "  So  delightful,  my  love  !  he  is  just  come  ;  un- 
expectedly, indeed.  Poor  fellow !  what  an  effort  he  must 
have  made." 

Helen's  face  became  pale  as  death.  Lady  Louisa  Stuart 
followed  close  behind  Lady  Augusta.  She  stood  by  Helen 
unperceived,  and  murmured, 

"  'An  awful  rule  and  right  supremacy.' 
Petruchio  comes  to  enjoy  his  triumph." 


ivoks.  23 

Lady  Augusta  turned  upon  her,  sternly.  "  Louisa,  you 
forget  yourself.  Helen,  my  love,  you  will  have  your  full  re- 
ward now." 

A  contemptuous  flash  shot  from  Helen's  eyes.  She  put 
her  arm  within  her  brother's,  and  said,  "  Maurice,  we  will 
try  the  valse  ;  "  and  when  the  music  again  commenced,  Helen 
was  to  he  seen  whirling  in  the  dance  with  Captain  Mordaunt. 
On  and  on,  faster  and  faster,  flushed  and  eager  in  her  proud 
wilfulness,  Helen  moved ;  conscious  only  of  one  feeling,  that 
she  had  asserted  her  own  free  will,  and  had  shown  herself,  as 
she  imagined,  independent  of  Lady  Augusta,  of  Claude,  of 
Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  of  the  mocking  world.  Numbers  flocked 
in  from  the  supper-room,  and  joined  the  dance.  Even  in  the 
whirl  of  her  excitement,  Helen  was  aware  of  a  painful, 
suffocating  dread.  Even  when  all  swam  before  her  eyes,  she 
sought  the  forms  of  the  bystanders,  and  in  the  bewilderment 
of  rapid  motion,  strove  to  distinguish  them  one  from  the 
other,  and  then,  rushing  past,  forgot  or  tried  to  forget,  and 
looked  again,  and  thought  she  saw, — and  hurried  on  wildly, 
breathlessly. 

"Helen,  this  is  too  much;  you  will  be  ill."  The  calm, 
sad,  reproachful  tone  of  Mrs.  Graham's  voice  came  to  Helen's 
ear  clear  as  a  knell,  in  the  midst  of  the  joyous  music.  She 
sank  upon  the  nearest  seat,  and  her  dizzy  head  was  buried  in 
her  hands.  A  dark  figure  stood  opposite  ;  a  keen,  penetrating 
gaze  was  fixed  upon  her.  Helen  raised  her  head ;  her  eye 
met  Claude's,  and  almost  staggering,  as  she  seized  her  aunt's 
arm  for  support,  she  rushed  from  the  hall,  and  hurried  to  her 
own  room. 

It  haunted  her,  that  gaze;  it  looked  upon  her  from  the 
darkened  walls;  it  came  before  her,  when  she  knelt,  from 
habit,  to  repeat  her  evening  prayer;  it  dwelt  with  her  when 
she  closed  her  eyes.  And  what  a  talc  of  anguish  and  disap- 
pointment it  told  ! 


24  ivoks. 

Helen  tore  in  pieces  the  letter  in  -which  she  had  explained 
her  feelings,  and  before  Claude  retired  to  rest,  he  received  a 
few  hasty  lines. 

"  I  am  unworthy  of  you,  and  you  acknowledge  it.  We 
are  parted  for  ever.  H.  C. 

A  feverish  night  succeeded ;  broken  sleep  and  distracted 
dreams.  When  the  light  of  morning  broke  upon  the  horizon, 
Helen,  awakened  by  a  rumbling  sound  beneath  her  window, 
was  gazing  from  it  at  a  fly,  which  stood  at  the  hall  door.  A 
man-servant  brought  out  a  portmanteau  and  carpet-bag,  and 
the  driver  enquired  if  there  was  more  luggage,  and  said  that . 
the  gentleman  must  be  quick,  or  he  would  be  late  for  the 
train. 

A  cold  tremor  stole  over  Helen,  and  she  sat  down.  A 
quick  step  was  heard  along  the  passage  ;  it  paused  before  her 
door.  A  note  or  a  message  it  might  be ;  but  it  passed  on, 
and  then  there  were  distant  sounds  very  indistinct.  The  hall 
door  opened,  and  Claude  came  out;  the  driver  let  down  the 
carriage  steps,  and  he  jumped  in.  Helen  saw  his  face  as  he 
looked  out.  His  eye  was  seeking  her  window;  it  rested 
there.  The  carriage  drove  off,  and  still,  still,  the  lingering, 
hopeless,  heart-sickening  gaze  was  directed  towards  her  room. 
But  the  wheels  rapidly  turned  into  the  avenue ;  he  was  out 
of  sight ;  and  Helen,  unable  to  find  relief  in  tears,  sat,  cold 
and  deathlike,  gazing  into  vacancy,  and  realising,  for  the 
first  time,  that  in  her  madness  and  folly  she  had  cast  away 
a  love  which  it  was  in  her  power  to  return. 


CHAPTER  XLY 


There  was   a  large,  convenient,  but  old-fashioned  house  in 
Cavendish  Square.     It  had  more  intricacies,  and  therefore 


itors.  25 

more  romance,  than  the  generality  of  London  houses :  odd 
little  rooms  at  the  back,  and  curious  dark  passages  in  the 
underground  regions.  The  situation  was  not  a  very  exciting 
one ;  the  few  laurels,  and  evergreens,  and  stunted  trees,  and 
the  blackened  turf  of  a  London  square  are  seldom  exhilarating 
to  the  spirits,  except  in  the  first  freshness  of  spring,  when 
they  seem  to  be  the  harbingers  and  earnests  of  real  country  ; 
and  the  negro-hued  statue,  the  presiding  genius  of  the  vi- 
cinity, standing  in  the  centre  of  his  domains,  suggests  few 
historical* ideas,  except  those  connected  with  the  inquiry,  how 
long  it  has  taken  to  cover  his  naturally  pale  face  with  such  a 
sepulchral  stain. 

But  Admiral  Clare  was  very  well  satisfied  with  his  man- 
sion. It  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  good  deal  that  was 
interesting,  and  comfortably  distant  from  Belgravia,  which,  to 
use  his  own  expression,  was  his  abomination.  Moreover, — and 
it  was  a  most  essential  point — it  was  within  easy  reach  of  his 
physician  ;  and  the  Admiral,  having  been  persuaded  to  under- 
take a  journey  to  London,  for  the  benefit  of  medical  advice, 
was  resolved  in  this  case,  as  in  all  others  through  life,  to  do 
what  he  had  to  do  thoroughly,  and  since  he  was  to  study  his 
health,  to  make  it  his  first  object.  Perhaps,  he  might  not 
have  been  altogether  so  satisfied  in  his  new,  though  tempo- 
rary home,  but  that  he  had  brought  with  him  some  most  im- 
portant ingredients,  as  regarded  his  happiness,  in  the  shape 
of  Mrs.  Graham  and  her  three  girls,  who  had  now  no  neces- 
sity for  remaining  at  Wingfield,  as  Charlie  was  gone  to  a 
public  school.  Without  them,  it  might  have  been  a  very 
difficult  task  to  persuade  the  Admiral  to  move,  but  the  idea 
of  giving  Susan  the  opportunity  of  visiting  exhibitions,  and 
[sabella  the  advantage  of  nni.-ic  lessons,  and  brightening 
Anna's  quick  intellect  by  lectures  and  sight-seeing,  was  a 
temptation  not  to  be  resisted;  and,  infirm  though  he  was, 
and  with  a  constitution  evidently  breaking,  the  old  Admiral's 


26  ivors. 

energy  .shot  up  like  the  gleam  of  a  dying  lamp,  as  he  made 
his  arrangements  for  a  spring  in  London. 

Nearly  two  years  had  gone  by  since  the  Christmas  which 
immediately  succeeded  •  Claude  Egerton's  election.  Two 
dull  and  stagnant  years  externally;  but  they  had  left  then- 
trace  upon  the  Admiral's  wrinkled  brow.  The  working  of 
the  inward  mind  will  do  that  as  well  as  the  pressure  of  out- 
ward trials  ;  and  Admiral  Clare  was  always  hoping,  always 
restless,  even  when  he  thought  and  called  himself  quite  put 
aside  from  the  world,  a  confirmed  invalid,  and  a  martyr  to 
the  gout.  His  manner  had  lost  none  of  its  quickness,  though 
his  tone  was  lower,  and  his  voice  weaker.  He  had  grown  a 
little  more  deaf,  and  this  tended  to  increase  the  irritability 
which  was  natural  to  him.  But  he  strove  much  against  it. 
He  was  always  striving  in  some  way  for  something  in  which 
he  thought  he  might  do  better  ;  and  he  showed  his  efforts  as 

DO  ' 

plainly  as  a  child  might. 

"  Well ;  and  what  are  you  after  this  morning  ?  "  was  his 
half  hasty,  half  good-humoured  inquiry  of  Mrs.  Graham,  when 
she  came  into  his  study,  as  usual,  about  eleven  o'clock,  to 
inquire  what  kind  of  breakfast  he  had  made.  "  Jennings 
will  be  here  presently,  and  I  thought  you  were  going  to  stay 
at  home  and  see  him  ?  " 

""  Half-past  three  is  his  hour,  my  dear  sir,  and  there  will 
be  time  enough  for  us  to  do  all  our  shopping  and  have  lun- 
cheon, besides,  long  before  that." 

"  You  women  are  always  shopping;  one  would  think  that 
you  had  mines  of  Golconda  at  command.  What  is  it  you 
want  ?  " 

The  question  was  a  prelude  to  insisting  upon  paj^ng  for 
every  thing ;  a  fancy  which  Mrs.  Graham  wa,i  obliged  con- 
tinually to  combat.  She  evaded  an  ausAver  by  saying  that 
they  were  only  trifles, — pencils,  paper,  and  such  things. 
Mr.  Egerton  had  recommended  them  where  to  so. 


ivors.  27 

"  And  he  means  to  go  with  you,  T  suppose.  What  a 
dangler  he  is  !  " 

"  He  has  not  quite  time  to  spare  for  buying  pencils," 
said  Mrs.  Graham.     "  I  told  him  so,  and  he  acknowledged  it." 

••  You  are  always  sending  him  to  the  right  about,  Frances. 
Poor  young  fellow !  he's  lonely  enough ;  and  you  won't  let 
him  have  the  home  he  might  have." 

"  He  is  always  fall  of  engagements,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  ; 
"  and  you  would  be  the  first  to  scold  him  if  he  did  not  attend 
to  them."" 

"  Perhaps  I  should.  I'm  given  to  scolding  about  most 
things.  I  was  cross  to  him  twice  yesterday,  but  I  mean  to 
ask  his  pardon  to-day." 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  coming  here  to-day,"  observed  Mrs. 
Graham. 

"  Xot  coming !  What's  that  for  ?  But  never  mind." 
And  the  Admiral  squeezed  his  left  hand  with  his  right,  as 
he  often  did  when  he  felt  inclined  to  be  pettish. 

"  He  said  he  should  be  late  at  the  House  last  night,  and 
he  had  to  meet  some  one  about  the  Education  Pill  this  after- 
noon. I  brought  you  the  '  Times  '  with  the  report  of  his 
speech  last  nighl ;  not  a  very  Long  one, — his  never  are, — ■ 
but  very  much  to  the  purpose." 

The  Admiral  was  mollified  ;  ke  took  the  paper  and  wiped 
his  spectacles.  .Mrs.  Graham  ventured  another  piece  of  in- 
formation. "  Dr.  Jennings  has  sent  in  the  '  Morning  Post." 
I  see  by  it  that  Lady  Augusta  has  come  up  rather  earlier 
than  she  talked  of  doing.  They  were  at  a  grand  party  last 
night;    I  forget  where." 

"  Humph  I  The  Admiral  did  not  trust  himself  to  any 
more  open  expression  of  his  fecliag 

"  And  we  have  had  an  invitation  to  :i  literary  soiree, 
given  by  Miss  Manners."'  continued  Mrs.  Graham 

"  Literary  folly  !  That  woman  is  enough  to  drive  away 
a n\  little  sense •  may  chance  to  have.     Are  you  going  ?  " 


28  ivoes. 

"  I  am  not  sure.  Miss  Manners  is  not  very  much  to  our 
taste ;  and  it  is  generally  disappointing  to  see  lions  aud 
lionesses  when  they  are  brought  out  for  show.  They  make 
me  think  of  children,  of  two  years  old,  brought  down  stairs 
and  told  to  talk,  and  turning  sulky." 

"  I  suppose  Lady  Augusta's  party  was  a  dinner,  not  a 
ball,"  said  the  Admiral,  sarcastically.  He  had  evidently 
paid  but  little  attention  to  Mrs.  Graham's  last  remark. 

"  No,  a  dance  ;  so  the  '  Morning  Post '  says." 

"  I  thought  she  had  given  up  the  sin  of  dancing,  and 
taken  to  eating  and  drinking  instead,"  said  the  Admiral. 
"  That  was  what  people  always  did  in  my  days  when  tluy 
professed  to  take  a  decidedly  religious  turn." 

"  Eating  and  drinking  is  the  sin  now,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham ;   "  and  dancing  is  an  innocent  recreation." 

"  With  prayers  twice  a  day  as-  an  accompaniment,"  said 
the  Admiral.  "Ah,  Frances;  you  and  I  are  not  good 
enough  for  this  world." 

"  Church  is  a  great  rest  ;  in  London  especially,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Rest !  Do  you  think  Lady  Augusta  goes  there  for 
rest  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Admiral.  "  She  is  one  of  those  who 
can't  take  religion  without  sauce  ;  and  she  dresses  it  up  now, 
till  you  don't  know  which  is  the  religion  and  which  the  ex- 
citement that  flavours  it." 

"  But  one  must  hope  there  is  some  reality  in  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham. 

"  I  was  born  without  hope,"  said  the  Admiral. 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  grave,  and  answered,  "  It  always 
gives  me  pain  to  talk  about  her." 

"  So  it  does  me,"  replied  the  Admiral ;  "  only  I  speak  it 
all  out,  and  then  it's  over.  But  I  mean  to  be  charitable ; 
yes,  I  really  do  mean  it ;  only,  don't  mention  her  name 
again."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  added  :  "  Miss  Helen 
doesn't  take  to  church-going  too,  I  suppose." 


ivors.  29 

"  Poor  Helen  !  I  wish  I  could  tell  anything  that  she 
would  take  to,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  She  has  a  hard  life  of  it  now,  I  suspect,"  said  the  Ad- 
miral, looking  up  keenly  at  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Lady  Augusta  does  not  easily  forget,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Nor  forgive.  She  has  a  punishment  in  store,  you  may 
be  certain  of  that.  Oh  !  Frances," — and  the  Admiral  raised 
his  hand,  and  gave  effect  to  his  ivords,  by  striking  it  on  the 
table, — "  what  an  escape  for  Claude  '  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  quite  sure  of  that,"  replied  Mrs. 
Graham. 

"  What  !  would  you  have  had  him  marry  the  girl  after 
all  her  vagaries  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  venture  to  wish  things  altered ;  yet  one 
thing  is  quite  evident,  that  Claude  is  not  happy." 

"  Because  he  doesn't  know  how  to  value  his  own  good 
luck.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  is  hankering  after 
Helen  Clare  still  ?  " 

"  No ;  if  he  were,  he  would  have  made  some  attempts  at 
reconciliation  ;  and  he  has  made  none  :  he  told  me  that  him- 
self. The  charm  once  broken,  it  was  broken  for  ever.  But 
he  has  had  a  great  shock." 

"  And  he  deserves  it.  Claude  Egerton  is  as  sensible  a 
man  as  you  would  wish  to  find  in  other  matters;  but  when 
he  fell  in  love  with  that  giddy-pated  girl,  he  was  the  greatest 
idiot  in  Christendom.  A  child  of  two  years  old  could  have 
taught  him  better." 

"  If  it  were  only  a  shock  as  regarded  Helen,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham,  "it  might  be  of  less  consequence;  but  it  lias 
tiven  him  an  impression  about  all  young  girls." 

"  A  true  one,  perchance,"  said  the  Admiral ;  "  they  are 
a  slippery  race." 

11  Papas  and  mammas  make  them  slippery,  very  often," 
replied  Mrs.  Graham.     "  [f  Belen  had  been  left  to  her  own 


30  IVORS. 

unbiassed  feelings,  she  would  never  have  accepted  Claude  so 
hastily ;  and,  therefore,  never  would  have  given  him  up  so 
easily." 

"  She  behaved  very  ill,"  said  the  Admiral. 

"  Very  !  I  make  no  excuse  for  her,  except " 

"  What  except  ?  You  have  an  exception  for  eve-ry  one 
except  me ;  you  put  me  down  as  the  most  prejudiced  old  fel- 
low alive." 

"  Put  persons  in  a  false  position,  and  they  must  irritate 
each  other,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham  ;  "  that  was  the  first  mis- 
take." 

"  Men  tumble  into  love,  and  women  walk  into  it,  I  sup- 
pose," said  the  Admiral,  thoughtfully  :  "  any  how  it  is  a 
happy  thing  for  Claude,  that  he  has  tumbled  out  again  :  only 
you  declare  that  he  is  not  happy." 

"  I  don't  say  that  he  is  unhappy ;  he  is  too  good  and 
useful  for  that.  I  doubt  if  people  are  ever  thoroughly  un- 
happy  when  they  feel,  that  if  they  were  taken  away  from  the 
world  they  would  be  missed  and  wanted.  But  he  seems  to 
me  to  have  lost  all  his  light-heartedness." 

"  He  never  had  very  much  of  it." 

"  I  think  he  had  in  a  certain  way.  If  he  was  not  light- 
hearted  himself,  he  could  throw  himself  into  the  mirth  of 
others.  But  that  is  eone  now  ;  he  is  a  thorough  man  of  bu- 
siness." 

"  And  well  for  him  that  he  is.  After  all,  Frances,  what 
is  love  worth  ?  "  and  the  Admiral  laughed  with  effort. 

"  Heaven. will  tell  us,  I  suppose,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham  ; 
u  for  it  will  live  there,  if  it  is  true  love."  And  as  the  Ad- 
miral seemed  unwilliDg  to  speak  again,  she  added,  "  Claude 
will  be  better  when  Helen  is  married." 

"  Then  the  report  is  true  ?  "  said  the  Admiral,  looking 
up,  quickly. 

';  I  don't  know  as  to  Captain  Mordaunt ;  I  suppose  that 


IYORS.  31 

is  mere  report ;  he  is  too  silly,  though  he  is  heir  to  an  earl- 
dom. But  Lady  Augusta  will  scarcely  be  contented  to  go 
through  another  London  season  without  something  decisive." 

"  I  wish  she  would  be  quick  about  it  then,"  said  the  Ad- 
miral, sharply  :  "  it  is  too  bad  making  poor  Claude  miserable 
still." 

"  Nay,  my  dear  sir,  it  is  not  Lady  Augusta's  foult,  or 
any  person's.  It  is  simply  the  result  of  unfortunate  circum- 
stances. All  I  meant  was,  that  -something  of  regret  will 
often  linger  in  a  man's  mind,  even  when  real  feeling  is  gone ; 
and  that  the  sight  of  Helen,  unmarried,  must  tend  to  bring 
back  painful  recollections." 

"  But  they  have  never  met  yet,  have  they  ?  You  know 
they  went  to  Scotland  to  avoid  him  at  first ;  and  last  year 
there  was  the  sea ;  and  when  he  came  down  to  me  last  au- 
tumn she  was  away  too." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  they  have  met,  or  Helen  would  have 
given  me  some  idea  of  it.  But  her  letters  lately  have  been 
full  of  one  topic,  the  wearisomeness  of  life." 

"  She'll  soon  get  rid  of  that  feeling  in  the  London  whirl." 

"  Or  it  will  make  the  wearisomeness  more  weary,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  I  long  sometimes  to  draw  her  awajr  from 
the  set  she  mixes  with,  and  bring  her  amongst  ourselves: 
but  she  is  very  fanciful  ;  I  never  know  what  will  suit  her. 
She  was  very  much  taken,  some  time  since,  with  a  new  ac- 
quaintance she  made  last  year,  a  Madame  Iteinhard,  a  Ger- 
man lady;  31  i^s  Manners  I  think,  introduced  them;  and 
she  stayed  at  Ivors  for  a  fortnight.  I  don't  know  whether 
the  fancy  has  lasted." 

"  I  see  you  want  to  put  her  in  Claude's  way  again,"  said 
the  Admiral,  rather  hastily. 

"  No,  indeed  ;  it  would  be  so  exceedingly  awkward  ; 
though,  I  believe,  there  would  be  no  fear  for  him;  his  idol 
is  deal  royed." 


32  ivors. 

"  Don't  trust  to  it,'1  exclaimed  the  Admiral ;  "  once  a 
fool,  twice  a  fool !  I  won't  have  her  here."  He  spoke  with 
angry  determination. 

Mrs.  Graham  hastened  to  assure  him,  that  it  was  no  real 
plan  or  wish  of  hers,  merely  a  passing  idea,  to  which  she 
saw  as  many  objections  as  he  could  himself. 

"Mrs.    Mordaunt,    or    Countess    of    what    is    it? 

Change  Alley  !  She  may  come  then,"  said  the  Admiral, 
laughing. 

Mrs.  Graham  did  not  laugh.  She  took  out  her  watch, 
and  said  it  was  time  to  go  out,  if  they  wished  to  return  for 
luncheon.  But  the  Admiral  would  not  give  up  his  joke,  and 
declared  he  would  send  congratulations  to  Lady  Augusta, 
and  promise  to  dance  at  the  wedding. 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

Mes.  Graham  was  right;  Claude  Egerton  had  become  com- 
pletely a  man  of  business.  "  A  most  useful  fellow  !  capital 
on  Committees  !  Always  to  be  depended  upon !  "  were  the 
golden  opinions  which  he  was  winning  daily ;  and  others, 
more  valuable,  were  in  process  of  formation.  Claude  only 
wanted  time  to  give  himself  confidence;  and  then  his  calm- 
judging,  deep,  comprehensive  mind,  would  be  certain  to 
make  its  way.  He  felt  it ;  he  knew  that  he  was  gaining 
ground  in  public  estimation,  and  the  knowledge,  to  a  certain 
extent,  pleased  him.  A  year  before,  it  might  at  once  have 
awakened  his  ambition ;  but  a  change  had  passed  over 
Claude  :  life  and  its  interests  had  become  vapid.  He  worked 
diligently,  sometimes  with  apparent  excitement,  but  it  was 
because  work  was  a  necessity  to  keep  him  from  loneliness. 


iyors.  33 


He  -was  unutterably  lonely.  His  was  the  solitude  of  the 
heart's  bitterness,  and  there  is  none  so  dreary.  There  were 
no  day-dreams  now  to  fill  his  imagination,  no  visions  of 
home  and  domestic  comfort  to  cheer  him  in  his  solitary 
hours.  The  light  on  the  hearth  was  extinguished,  the  cham- 
bers were  desolate;  and  he  had  lost  all  hope,  and  for  the 
time  even  all  wish,  of  restoring  the  joys  gone  by.  Helen 
had  often  been  the  cause  of  suffering  to  others  by  neglect 
and  thoughtlessness  in  the  course  of  her  short  life  ;  but  of 
ail  injuries  attributable  to  her,  none  more  needed  repentance 
than  that  which  she  had  inflicted  upon  Claude,  when  she 
shook  his  trust  in  her  truth. 

It  is  impossible  to  calculate  the  evil  we  do  when  we  destroy 
or  even  weaken  faith  in  goodness,  under  any  form.  Claude 
could  have  borne  to  be  rejected,  he  would  even  have  thanked 
Helen  for  setting  herself  free,  if  the  tie  by  which  she  was 
bound  had  been  irksome ;  but  the  manner  in  which  they  had 
been  parted  lingered  by  him  as  an  incurable  wound.  Per- 
haps he  had  never  till  then  realised  how  weak,  and  thought- 
less, and  inconsistent  a  woman  may  be.  He  had  indeed 
been  blind  in  his  affection  for  Helen ;  but  he  was  justified, 
by  observation  of  her  character,  in  his  belief  that  she  was 
essentially  true  ;  that  her  word  once  given,  it  would  be  kept; 
that  she  would  never  act  and  feel  towards  him  in  his  ab- 
sence, as  she  would  scorn  to  do  in  his  presence.  Upon  this 
conviction  he  had  based  his  love ;  and  by  one  moment  (if 
wilfulness  the  spell  was  broken  ;  and  he  saw  hef  not  only 
divested  of  the  charms  which  he  had  delusively  pictured,  but 
even  of  those  which  she  really  possessed.  He  did  her  injus- 
tice ;  and  not  only  so,  but  he  was  unjust  also  to  others  for 
her  sake.  He  was  becoming  indifferent,  and  secretly  cynical, 
towards  women  in  general,  lie  forgot  that  it  was  his  own 
weakness  which  had  made  him  imagine  Helen  different  from 
what  she  really  was.     He  thought  she  had  deceived  him, 


34  ivors. 

and  he  believed  that  others  would  do  the  same.  And  so  hia 
standard  of  a  woman's  excellence  was  insensibly  lowered. 
The  fact  was  shown  in  his  every-day  life.  He  sought  the 
society  of  men,  and  occupied  himself  only  with  their  pursuits; 
and  when  the  great  need  of  his  nature,  the  craving  for  sym- 
pathy and  tenderness,  made  him  dissatisfied  with  the  feeling 
which  he  obtained  from  them,  he  shrank  back  into  himself, 
disgusted  with  life  even  at  its  outset,  and  conscience-stricken 
because  he  could  not  at  once  find  in  religion  and  its  duties  a 
solace  for  the  loss  of  earthly  happiness. 

This  at  least  had  been  his  state  of  mind  before  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham came  to  London.  Since  then  he  had  found  something 
approaching  to  his  former  pleasure  in  women's  society,  though 
he  still  considered  her  rather  an  exception  than  a  rule.  She 
allowed  him  to  be  what  he  was  naturally,  and  never  forced 
him  into  exertion  after  happiness.  If  she  had  been  absent 
he  would  have  gone  frequently  to  see  the  Admiral;  but  it 
would  have  been  with  a  secret  dread  of  the  old  man's  sur- 
mises and  hints,  and  indirect  questionings  as  to  the  state  of 
his  feelings.  But  Mrs.  Graham  was  his  protection.  He 
could  talk  to  her  quite  freely,  and  her  ready  sympathy  gave 
something  like  stimulus  to  the  affairs  which  he  had  in  hand ; 
and  she  always  drew  the  Admiral's  attention  away  when  any 
thirg  personal  was  said.  Claude  would  have  been  a  very 
frequent  guest  in  Cavendish  Square,  if  Mrs.  Graham  had  al- 
lowed it ;  but  she  was  always  urging  him  to  keep  up  gen- 
eral society,  and  warning  him  against  becoming  morbid  ;  and 
very  often  an  invitation  was  accepted,  merely  because  she 
gave  her  opinion  in  its  favour. 

The  Admiral  saw  this  influence,  and  the  old  dormant  hope 
revived.  He  flattered  himself  that  Claude  was  attracted  by 
Susan.  What  pleasure,  as  he  sometimes  said  to  himself, 
could  a  young  man  of  eight  and  twenty  find  in  the  society  of 
a  woman  of  fifty,  even  though  she  happened  to  be  Frances 


IVORS.  3d 

Graham,  when  there  was  a  pleasant,  pretty  young  girl  close 
at  hand,  to  whom  he  might  devote  himself?  It  was  all 
make-believe,  Claude's  fancy  for  Mrs.  Graham, — an  excuse 
for  coming  to  see  Susan.  Mrs.  Graham  judged  more  truly. 
In  the  present  state  of  Claude  Egerton's  feelings,  there  was 
neither  hope  nor  fear  for  any  young  girl,  whether  pretty  or 
ugly,  pleasant  or  the  contrary.  He  wanted  rest  and  sympa- 
thy. A  mother,  or  an  aunt,  or  any  near  female  relative  who 
understood  him,  would  have  given  it  him.  And  she  had 
taken  the"  place  for  the  time  being.  Yet  she  kept  him  away 
as  much  as  possible,  the  reason  being  more  prudence  than  fear. 

Claude  came  to  Cavendish  Square,  when  Lady  Augusta 
Clare  had  beeu  iu  London  about  four  days.  Mrs.  Graham 
doubted  whether  he  was  aware  of  the  fact.  Lady  Augusta 
had  decided  upon  coming  very  suddenly.  At  one  time  there 
was  a  strange  report  that  she  meant  to  spend  the  spring  in 
the  country,  but  Mrs.  Graham  never  believed  this.  Tho 
foregoing  spring  indeed,  Lady  Augusta  had  been  in  London 
very  little ;  but  that  was  the  year  after  the  engagement  with 
Claude  was  broken  oil*,  and  Helen  had  been  ill  with  influenza 
and  general  weakness,  and  sea  air  had  been  recommended. 
It  was  not  likely  that  the  Loudon  season  would  again  be  in- 
terfered with.  Whether  Lady  Augusta  considered  Helen's 
wishes  or  not,  there  was  no  doubt  what  her  own  would  be  ; 
and  her  name  in  the  Morning  Post  was  read  by  Mrs.  Graham 
as  a  thing  of  course. 

Claude  came  into  the  drawing-room,  his  head  moio  full 
than  usual  of  Parliamentary  matters.  An  important 'question 
was  coming  on,  and  possibly  ministers  would  be  defeated.  He 
entered  at  once  upon  the  subject,  gave  his  own  opinions,  and 
the  outlines  of  what  he  should  say  if  he  were  called  upon  to 
speak;  and  Mrs.  ( ii  aham  listened,  and  encouraged  ;  and  for 
some  time  it  might  have  been  I  nought  that  in  Claude's  eyes 
the  world  Only  existed  for  the  purpose  of  settling  the  disputed 
point. 


36  ivoks. 

But  there  came  a  pause — a  sudden  pause — not  very  un 
usual  now,  in  the  midst  of  Claude's  most  interesting  conver- 
sations. He  spoke  abruptly  to  Susan.  "  Miss  Graham,  I 
ought  to  apologise  to  you  for  these  politics ;  they  can't  be  in- 
teresting to  you." 

Isabella  answered  for  her  sister.  "  We  all  like  politics 
very  much,  Mr.  Egerton." 

"  And  we  don't  like  to  be  supposed  not  tc  understand," 
asked  Anna. 

"  And  we  think  we  understand  a  good  deil  more  than  we 
do  sometimes,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  laughing.  "  I  am  quite 
frightened  at  the  turn  Anna  is  taking." 

"  Susan,  you  mean,  mamma;   she  reads  all  the  debates." 

"  To  the  Admiral,"  said  Susan,  quickly. 

"  And  to  yourself  very  often,"  continued  Anna. 

"  I  believe  it  is  the  fashion  with  young  ladies  to  take  a 
political  mania  at  some  time  or  other  of  their  lives,"  said 
Claude. 

Susan  looked  up  from  her  work,  and  asked,  "  Do  you 
think  it  only  fashion  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  is.  I  can  account  for  it  in  no  other  way. 
Are  you  going  to  Miss  Manners'  soiree  ?  " 

Isabella  was  again  spokeswoman ;  "  We  are  not  sure  : 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Probably  ;  Miss  Manners  bores  me  so,"  he  added,  ad- 
dressing Mrs.  Graham  ;  "  I  really  think  I  must  go  one 
evening,  for  the  sake  of  ridding  myself  of  her." 

"  I  suppose  she  contrives  sometimes  to  get  interesting 
people  together,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Yes  ;  but  she  seldom  produces  interesting  results.  Tar- 
taric acid  won't  effervesce  without  soda;  people  forget  that." 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Manners  asked  us  with  the  hope  of  our 
beiug  the  soda,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

Claude  smiled  faintly,  and  said  he  was  very  conscious  of 


ivors.  37 

the  soda  in  his  own  composition ;  his  only  fear  was  that  it 
would  overpower  any  amount  of  acid  which  might  be  tried 
upon  it. 

"  Miss  Manners  has  been  waiting  some  time,  I  believe,  to 
give  this  party,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham.  There  was  mean- 
ing in  her  tone. 

Claude  said  quietly,  "  I  suppose  till  Lady  Augusta  Clare 
arrived,"  and  then  he  turned  away  his  head,  so  that  Mrs. 
Graham  was  unable  to  see  his  face.      Still,  however,  he  pur- 

0 

sued  the  subject  of  the  party,  addressing  himself  to  Susan. 
"  You  would  meet  some  people,  Miss  Graham,  whom  you 
would  like, — men  who  have  exerted  themselves  for  the  benefit 
of  the  lower  classes  in  London;  the  difficulty  is  to  make 
them  talk." 

"  Miss  Manners  is,  I  suppose,  earnest,"  said  Susan,  "  She 
takes  up  useful  things  as  well  as  those  which  are  only  scien- 
tific." 

"  Yes,  so  far,  she  makes  one  ashamed  of  oneself  :  if  one 
could  only  believe  there  was  no  show  in  it." 

"  That  may  be  a  hard  thing  to  require,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. 

"  True  ;  women  so  little  know  how  to  manage  anything 
out  of  the  common  way."  And  as  the  words  were  uttered, 
the  colour  rushed  to  Claude's  cheeks,  and  he  added  hastily : 
"  Forgive  me ;  I  really  did  not  mean, — I  only  thought,  that 
Miss  Manners  was  a  little  given  to  show ;  but  no  doubt  I  am 
wrong ;   she  is  a  very  good  person  I  dare  say." 

Susan  was  again  intent  upon  her  work. 

But  Claude  would  not  let  her  rest.  lie  asked,  "  Do  you 
take  an  interest  in  London  charities,  Miss  Graham?  " 

He  might  as  well  have  said,  "  Do  you  like  balls?  "  there 
would  have  been  just  as  much  heart  in  the  question.  Aud 
Susan  answered  coldly,  that  she  had  had  very  few  opportu- 
nities of  healing  anything  about  them. 


38  ivok  . 

Claude  was  not  thrown  back  by  her  manner.  A  fit  of 
repentance  for  bis  ungraciousness  to  women  was  upon  him, 
and  be  was  resolved  to  make  amends.  So  be  began  upon 
tbe  subject  of  ragged  schools,  their  failures  and  successes ; 
and  from  thence  proceeded  to  discuss  the  general  condition 
of  the  poor;  giving  anecdotes  and  illustrations;  and  at 
length'  the  subject  engrossed  bim,  and  he  passed  out  of  the 
region  of  cynicism,  and  became  himself  again — himself  in  the 
olden  days. 

Several  times  Mrs.  Graham  tried  to  stop  bim  ;  but  it  is 
pleasant  to  us  all  to  be  made  conscious  of  our  own  identity, 
by  having  bygone  feelings  revived,  and  Claude  liked  his  con- 
versation for  that  reason,  and  continued  it,  addressing  him- 
self now  to  Mrs.  Graham,  instead  of  Susan. 

Yet  the  stern  reality  of  the  present  came  back  at  last. 

Anna's  punctuality  reminded  her  that  they  had  visits  to 
pay,  and  in  a  pause  of  the  conversation,  she  rather  awk- 
wardly mentioned  the  fact.  Isabella  begged  her  not  to  talk 
about  them,  but  Claude  instantly  took  bis  hat,  and  apolo- 
gised for  having  detained  them. 

"  I  had  forgotten  the  visits,"  said  Mrs.  Graham ;  "  I 
don't  think  they  can  be  very  important ;  only  Anna  has  such 
a  memory  for  disagreeable  duties." 

"  They  will  not  be  all  disagreeable,"  replied  Anna;  "  at 
least  to  Susan  "  and  then  she  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  re- 
membering something  that  had  better  not  be  said. 

Claude  looked  surprised  ;  but  Mrs.  Graham  added  di- 
rectly, "  Susan  will  be  very  glad  to  see  Helen  :  only  it  is 
doubtful  if  we  shall  find  her  at  home." 

"  To-morrow  will  do  as  well,"  said  Susan  :  she  went  on 
with  her  work,  though  Anna  endeavoured  to  take  it  from 
her. 

Claude  was  most  entirely  absorbed  in  moving  the  posi- 
tion of  two  little  china  figures,  which  stood  upon  the  mantel 


IVORS.  30 

piece.  He  might  have  been  realising  Hans  Andersen's  tales, 
and  giving  them  imaginary  life. 

"  You  had  better  get  ready  at  once,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham ;  "  the  carriage  was  ordered  at  a  quarter  to  four. 
Isabella,  you  are  not  going  ;  it  must  be  nearly  your  time  for 
reading  to  the  Admiral."  The  hint  was  sufficient;  the 
three  girls  departed,  and  Mrs.  Graham  and  Claude  were  left 
alone. 

Claude  turned  from  his  china  figures,  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  close'd.  His  countenance  had  in  those  few  moments 
assumed  the  worn,  saddened  look,  which  was  now  its  habitual 
expression.  There  was  an  evident  effort,  and  then  he  said, 
"  Thank  you  for  mentioning  her  name  naturally ;  it  is  what 
I  always  wish." 

"  I  thought  you  did.  I  saw  that  you  chose  to  speak  of 
Lady  Augusta." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  speak  of  both," 
he  said,  with  some  bitterness. 

"  Except  that  it  might  be  painful." 

"  It  ought  not  to  be ;  it  is ."     He  could  not  finish 

the  sentence,  and  the  china  figures  were  again  his  resource. 
Then  he  went  on  with  a  rapidity  which  did  not  allow  a  pause 
for  self-recollection :  "  I  have  wished  very  much  to  talk  to 
som?  one;  no  one  will  understand  me  as  well  as  you.  It  is 
all  over  ;  quite.  You  must  not  for  an  instant  think  it  is 
not;  because  I  don't  always  command  myself.  It  was  a 
dream.  I  was  rudely  awakened  ;  but  no  matter  for  that.  I 
beg  you  and  all  my  friends  not  to  spare  me.  I  don't  intend 
to  spare  myself.  1  shall  not  shun "  a  momentary  chok- 
ing in  the  throat  stopped  him  ;   he  began  again,  "  I  shall  not 

shun  Helen " 

Mrs.   Graham   gave   him   her  hand,  and  he   held  it  as  he 

added,  "  The  sooner   we   learn  to  meet  in  public  the  better." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  thoughtfully;  "  though 

Helen  can  never  sec  you  without  self-reproach." 


4-0  IVORS. 

He  answered  quickly,  "  The  first  wrong  was  mine.  I  did 
not  accept  her  own  words.'' 

"  Yet  I  should  like  you  to  feel  that  she  is  sorry." 

A  change  came  over  his  countenance.  He  shrank  from 
the  word  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

"  The  expression  sounds  cold,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  be  sorry;  I  would  rather  she  should 
not  think  about  me." 

"  JNot  in  the  way  of  repentance  ?  " 

He  looked  up  gravely,  and  answered,  "■  Yes,  in  that  way, 
if — "  the  words  came  slowly, — "  if  it  might  be."  There  was 
a  long  pause  of  consideration  on  both  sides,  and  Claude  once 
more  took  up  his  hat,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 

Very  handsome,  but  rather  sombre,  was  Lady  Augusta 
Clare's  house  in  Grosvenor  Place.  It  had  lately  been  fitted 
up  especially  to  meet  her  wishes.  She  liked  little  singular- 
ities ;  and  when  all  the  world  took  a  fancy  to  gilding  and 
bright  colours,  it  was  a  mark  of  quiet  and  independent  taste 
to  be  devoted  to  drab,  crimson,  and  oak.  And  the  sober  hue 
of  the  mansion  was  in  accordance  with  what  might  have  been 
called  Lady  Augusta's  present  tone  of  mind,  if  her  mind  had 
really  possessed  any  tone  of  its  own,  and  had  not  simply 
echoed  that  of  others.  Severity  was  now  her  profession ; 
severity  in  manners,  music,  literature,  and  art.  Dinner 
parties,  balls,  and  concerts,  were  given  as  in  former  days, 
but  always  with  a  lamentation  over  the  necessity.  Her 
dress  was  magnificent,  but  the  silks  and  satins  were  brown  or 
grey.     She  lavished  a  fortune  upon  ornaments  for  her  person 


rvoss.  -il 

and  her  house,  but  they  had  always,  as  she  sometimes  was 
heard  to  say,  a  religious  tendency.  Symptoms  of  all  this 
might  have  been  remarked  in  her  before,  but  the  character- 
istics  were  now  strongly  developed.  They  might  have  been 
traced  in  her  features.  The  sharp  nose  was  sharpened,  the 
lines  of  the  mouth  were  more  deeply  indented,  and  the  words 
which  were  uttered  escaped  with  increased  force  from  the 
compressed  lips.  But  it  was  the  forehead  which  perhaps  in- 
dicated the  most  plainly  the  peculiarities  of  Lady  Augusta's 
present  character.  It  had  a  settled  censuring  frown,  which 
yet  only  served  to  enhance  the  striking  impression  made  by 
her  countenance.  It  was  one  remarkable  thing  about  Lady 
Augusta  Clare,  that  whatever  belonged  to  her,  whether  it 
was  natural  or  acquired,  suited  her.  As  she  had  been  for- 
merly the  blandest  and  most  condescending,  so  was  she  now 
the  handsomest,  most  dio-nified,  as  well  as  the  most  severe  of 
matrons  ;  and  the  frown,  instead  of  appearing  as  an  indica- 
tion of  temper,  was  simply  the  result  of  that  mournful  quick- 
si"htedness  in  rejrard  to  human  weakness,  which  was  the  na- 
tural  consequence  of  her  own  exalted  virtues. 

Probably  if  it  had  not  assumed  that  character  it  would 
ere  this  have  been  smoothed  away.  No  one  was  a  better 
judge  of  the  effect  produced  by  her  own  appearance  than 
Lady  Augusta  Clare. 

Helen  and  Lady  Augusta  were  a  great  contrast  as  they 
sat  together  in  a  small,  rather  dark  room,  adjoining  the 
drawing-room,  filled  with  books  and  sonic  few  good  paintings 
of  a  sacred  cast.  Lady  Augusta,  in  her  dark  purple  dress, 
almost  black  ;  very  tall,  very  upright,  very  well  satisfied  with 
herself,  with  enough  to  do  and  to  think  of; — Helen,  dressed 
in  a  light  blue  muslin,  pale,  languid,  listless ;  a  shadow  of 
her  former  self,  reclining  in  an  easy  chair,  and  appearing 
scarcely  to  have  power  to  turn  oyer  the  pageB  of  a  novel. 
Both  were  reading,  or  appearing  to  read  ;  hut  Lady  Au- 
10 


42  ivors. 

gusta's  eye  steadily  followed  line  after  line  a  volume  of  re- 
ligious biography,  whilst  Helen  discursively  wandered  from 
one  pa^e  to  another,  often  passing  over  several  together,  and 
occasionally  looking  at  the  end. 

Presently  Lady  Augusta  said  :  "  Helen,  is  that  all  you 
intend  to  do  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  till  Madame  Reinhard  comes,"  was  Helen's  short 
reply. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  study  history  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  may  after  she  has  been  here  ;  I  can't  begin  for  my- 
self." 

"  But  you  can  acquire  facts,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 

"  I  don't  want  facts,  but  philosophy,"  replied  Helen.  "  I 
don't  think  you  quite  understand,  mamma." 

"  One  thing   I  can  quite  understand,  Helen ;  that  you  are 
wasting  your  time." 

"  It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  control  one's  mind,"  said 
Helen ;  "  if  it  won't  think,  it  won't.  Madame  Reinhard 
will  set  me  to  work." 

"  And  occupy  you  all  day,"  said  Lady  Augusta.  "  This 
German  mania  is  carried  too  far;  it  must  be  stopped." 

"  If  there  is  truth  in  it,"  said  Helen  :  "  it  will  be  impos- 
sible to  stop  it." 

For  the  first  time  she  spoke  in  her  natural,  eager  tone. 
Before,  the  words  were  dragged  from  her. 

"  Madame  Reinhard's  ideas  are  dangerous,"  said  Lady 
Augusta  ;  "  she  loses  herself  in  labyrinths." 

"  So  does  Miss  Manners,"  answered  Helen. 

"  Not  in  the  same  way,"  replied  Lady  Augusta.  "  Her 
theories  are  only  theories." 

"  And  Madame  Reinhard's  are  carried  into  practice,"  ex- 
claimed Helen.     "  Give  me  practice,  not  theory." 

"  And  yet  the  moment  I  introduce  a  practical  person  to 
you,  you  shrink  back,"  said  Lady  Augusta 


ivoes.  43 

"Never  from   the   practice,"  said    Helen,  coldly ;   "only 
from  the  unreality." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  unreality,  Helen.  It 
is  a  cant  phrase  of  the  present  day." 

"  I  don't  know  any  other  to  use,"  replied  Helen,  indiffer- 
ently.    "  Mamma,  we  need  not  go  on  talking  in  this  way." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Helen.  As  I  am  responsible  for 
your  views.  I  wish  to  comprehend  them." 

"I  have  no  views,  mamma;  only  I  hate  narrowness  and 
pettiness." 

"  Going  to  church  and  being  reverential,  for  instance," 
said  Lady  Augusta. 

"  Making  goodness  consist  in  such  things  as  this,"  said 
Helen  ;  taking  up  an  elaborate  piece  of  work  intended  as  the 
border  of  an  altar  carpet. 

"  I  make  no  answer  to  your  sneers,  Helen.  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  them.  But  since  you  are  so  bent  upon  being  prac- 
tical, I  will  put  your  principle  to  the  test.  You  will  go  to 
Miss  Manners'  soiree?" 

"  If  Madame  llcinhard  intends  to  be  there,"  replied 
Helen. 

Lady  Augusta's  cold  eye  sparkled,  as  she  exclaimed : 
"  If  it  is  my  will,  you  mean." 

"  Then,"  replied  Helen,  "  there  could  be  no  need  to  put 
the  question  to  me." 

"  Yet  I  was  willing  to  give  you  the  opportunity  of  pleas- 
ing me  by  your  own  free  will." 

'"  I  have  none,  mamma." 

"  None  !  when  every  hour  in  the  day  you  exhibit  it  ?  " 

"None,"  repeated  Helen.  "If  I  had,  I  should  not  be 
here." 

"  You  don't  mean,  Helen,  that  you  still  cling  to  that  ab- 
surd fancy  of  remaining  at  Ivors;  now,  when  I  have  made, 
and  am  daily  making,  such  sacrifices  for  you?  ': 


4i  IVOKS. 

"  I  wish  for  no  sacrifice  but  one,  mamma ;  to  be  left 
alone." 

"  To  brood  over  fancies,  and  waste  your  powers  in  meta- 
physics," exclaimed  Lady  Augusta. 

"  As  well  in  that  as  in  gold  thread  and  floss  silk,"  said 
Helen,  again  pointing  to  the  border  of  the  altar  carpet. 

"  To  be  the  mark  for  ridicule,"  continued  Lady  Augusta? 
her  words  being  uttered  with  greater  sharpness.  "  To  make 
yourself  disagreeable  to  the  persons  whom  your  father  and 
I  most  desire  you  to  please.  To  rehearse  again,  in  fact,  the 
part  which  has  been  your  public  disgrace." 

Helen  roused  herself  from  her  leaning  attitude  and  paused 
before  she  spoke;  then  she  said,  "  Mamma,  you  need  have 
no  fear  on  that  point.  I  shall  never  treat  another  man  as  I 
treated  Claude." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  think  so,"  replied  Lady  Augusta. 
"  You  will  then  be  more  willing  to  listen  to  what  your  father 
and  I  have  to  say." 

"  Is  it  anything  particular,  mamma  ?  "  asked  Helen,  ab- 
ruptly ;  whilst  she  moved  so  as  to  face  Lady  Augusta,  and 
regarded  her  with  a  steady  and  fixed  gaze. 

"  I  am  doubtful  whether  I  ought  to  tell  you;  but  it  may 
be  as  well  to  be  open.  Captain  Mordaunt  has  proposed  for 
you  to  your  father." 

"  Has  he  ?  "  said  Helen.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face 
moved. 

"  He  has,"  replied  Lady  Augusta,  emphatically.  "  He 
has  behaved  as  few  men  in  his  circumstances  would  have 
done  ;  he  has  placed  himself  entirely  in  your  father's  hands." 

"  He  is  wise  in  that,"  said  Helen.  "  He  may  have  hope 
with  my  father  :  he  would  have  none  with  me." 

"  You  are  ungrateful,  Helen." 

"  I  see  no  ingratitude." 

"  Not  in  the  way  in  which  you  receive  the  offer  of 
affection?" 


IVOES.  15 

"  If  it  -were  affection,  I  -would  be  grateful  for  it,"  replied 
Helen.  "  But,  as  it  happens,  I  can  appreciate  exactly  the 
value  of  Captaiu  Mordaunt's  professions.  He  has  known  me 
some  time,  and  likes  me  in  a  certain  W.ay.  He  thinks  I  am 
not  absolutely  ugly  or  dull.  It  pleases  him  to  hear  me  sing; 
and  we  can  carry  on  a  sufficiently  lively  conversation  in  a 
ball-room.  Moreover,  our  families  are  connected,  and  I  am 
likely  to  have  a  tolerable  fortune.  Altogether,  he  thinks 
that  I  shall  some  day  make  a  very  presentable  Countess  of 
Harford.  "I  may  be  conceited,  mamma,  but  I  estimate  my- 
self rather  above  all  this ;  therefore  I  am  not  grateful,  but 
the  contrary."' 

"  Helen,  your  satire  is  really  unbearable." 

"  I  am  sorry  fur  it  :  but,  unfortunately,  truth  is  often 
the  greatest  satire.  My  father,  I  suppose,  is  cpuite  prepared 
for  my  answer." 

"  None  is  required,"  replied  Lady  Augusta.  u  Captain 
Mordauut  asks  only  that  he  may  be  admitted  to  the  house  to 
endeavour  to  make  his  own  way :  that,  of  course,  you  could 
not  refuse." 

"  It  is  indifferent  to  me,"  replied  Helen.  "  Whether  one 
man  or  another  may  choose  to  pay  me  attentions  can  be  of 
little  consequence,  except  for  the  trouble  of  the  moment." 
She  took  out  her  watch.  "  Half  past  twelve.  Madame 
Reinhard  will  be  here  directly."' 

Lady  Augusta  detained  her  as  the  was  about  to  leave  the 
room.  Helen  thought  she  was  going  to  speak  again  of  Cap- 
tain Mordaunt ;  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  the  last  remark, 
and  Lady  Augusta  only  said  :  "  I  have  accepted  the  invita- 
tion for  Miss  Manners' ^piree.  I  mean  to  drive  to  Curzon 
Street  after  church  this  afternoon,  and  then  I  shall  learn  who 
arc  likely  to  be  present,  J  .-hould  wish  }OU,  therefore,  to  go 
out  with  me." 

"  The  carriage  may  call  for  me  when  you  return  from 
church,"  said  Helen. 


46  ITOKS. 

;i  It  will  take  up  time,"  replied  Lady  Augusta 
"  Only  five  minutes  ;   aud  I  have  engagements  till  then." 
"  With  Madame -Reinhard  ?  " 
"  It  may  be ;  I  can't  answer  for  it." 
"  I  wish  to  know,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 
Helen's  cheek  flushed  with  aiiger.     "  Yes,  with  Madame 
Reinhard,"  she  said ;  and  Lady  Augusta  allowed  her  to  go. 


CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

Helen  would  scarcely  have  been  supposed  to  be  the  sajie 
person,  if — about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  her  conversation 
with  Lady  Augusta — she  had  been  seen  sitting  by  the  side 
of  Madame  Reinhard,  and  looking  over  the  same  book  with 
her.  She  had  been  sharply  on  the  defensive  during  that  un- 
comfortable interview  with  her  step-mother;  all  the  worst 
points  of  her  character  standing  out  in  strong  relief,  as  they 
always  did  when  she  was  brought  in  contact  with  Lady 
Augusta.  We  all,  so  it  seems,  exercise  distinct  influences 
upon  each  other,  and  call  forth  more  or  less  some  peculiar 
characteristics,  either  congenial  or  antagonistic.  Lady  Au- 
gusta, of  late,  had  done  this  in  a  very  marked  way.  She 
roused  Helen  to  opposition,  even  when  there  was  nothing  to 
oppose.  It  was  a  struggle  for  supremacy  between  two  strong 
wills ;  but  Lady  Augusta  added  knowledge  of  the  world  to 
hers,  and  so  in  most  cases  it  was  victorious.  Besides,  she 
had  in  general  Right  on  her  side.  Her  faults  lay  much 
more  in  motive  than  in  action;  and  although  this  effectually 
prevented  her  from  having  any  influence  over  Helen,  whose 
perception  of  truth  in  character  was  almost  an  instinct,  it 
gave  her  generally  the  support  of  Sir  Henry's  judgment,  and 


IVORS.  4  < 

the  approbation  of  the    circle    in  which    she   niovea ;  and 
against  these  it  was  very  difficult  for  Helen  to  contend. 

But  Helen  was  at  her  ease  now  ;  all  the  cold  petulance 
of  manner,  so  offensive  from  its  want  of  respect,  was  gone. 
She  was  caressing,  gentle,  deferential,  and  full  of  eager  in- 
terest, and  her  affectionate  cordiality  was,  iu  appearance, 
fully  returned.  Madame  Reinhard  might  have  been  thirty, 
but  she  was  young-looking  for  her  age.  Her  countenance 
was  very  handsome  at  a  distance ;  on  a  nearer  view  it  had 
great  defects,  for  the  features  were  irregular ;  but  the  look  of 
wonderful  intelligence  in  the  square  forehead,  and  clear,  dark 
grey  eyes,  almost  forbade  criticism.  It  was  a  face  which 
took  the  beholder,  as  it  were,  by  storm,  and  compelled  ad- 
miration. Then  she  had  the  charm  of  a  foreign  manner  and 
foreign  accent.  Even  trifling  observations  became  piquant 
when  uttered  by  her ;  and  when  she  passed  into  the  region 
of  thought,  her  whole  soul  seemed  to  pour  itself  out  in  a 
rush  of  earnest,  though  sometimes  vague,  and  wild  specula- 
tions, which,  even  if  Helen  could  not  follow  them,  entranced 
her  by  the  fascination  of  power  and  eloquence. 

No  wonder  that  Helen  was  giving  herself  up  to  this  new 
influence;  she,  whose  life  had  lately  been  so  vapid  and  mo- 
notonous, whose  temper  was  becoming  sharpened  by  domes- 
tic uncongeniality,  and  at  the  bottom  of  whose  heart  lay 
self-reproach,  disappointed  hope,  and  a  restless  longing  for 
some  unattainable  joy ;  a  heavy,  heavy  burden,  which  dead- 
ened the  present,  and  buried  the  past  as  under  the  weight  of 
a  gravestone. 

It  was  something  to  feel  that  she  could  be  excited,  though 
but  for  a  few  hours  ;  it  was  much  more  to  believe  that  her 
mind  was  enlarging  to  receive  new  and  valuable  ideas ;  that 
she  was  learning  to  search  into  mysteries,  and  emancipate 
herself  from  prejudice. 

Madame  Reiuhard  taught  her  to   think,  and  any  person 


48  IYOKS. 

■who  does  that,  is  felt  at  once  to  be  a  benefactor.  And  so 
Helen  cultivated  her  acquaintance,  at  first  from  curiosity,  then 
from  real  pleasure,  now  from  affection.  The  enjoyment  of 
her  society  was  the  only  real  gratification  to  which  she  had 
looked  forward  in  coming  to  London,  and  even  that  would, 
she  imagined,  have  been  enhanced  tenfold,  if  Madame  Rein- 
hard  could  have  been  prevailed  upon  to  stay  with  her  at 
Ivors,  instead  of  remaining  amongst  the  gay,  dissipated 
friends,  whom  her  husband, — a  man  of  scientific  tastes,  but 
devoted  to  self-indulgence, — was  in  the  habit  of  collecting 
around  him. 

"  Beautiful  !  it  raises  one's  whole  nature!  If  one  .could 
only  feel  so  always  !  "  was  Helen's  exclamation,  as  Madame 
Reinhard  read,  with  perfect  emphasis  and  taste,  a  scene  from 
Goethe's  Torquato  Tasso ;  "  but  one  forgets  often  that  it  is 
possible." 

"  Ah  !  meine  Licbe !  that  is  true ;  but  the  sense  of  the 
beautiful  deepens  as  the  perception  of  it  expands ;  and  so 
one  learns  to  live  a  life  above  life." 

"  But  not  in  the  midst  of  such  pettiness  as  is  found  in 
this  London  whirl." 

"  Why  not  ?  The  real  beauty  of  humanity  is  the  same 
every  where.  One  has  but  to  dig  beneath  the  surface  to 
find  it.  There  are  hearts  to  love  in  London  as  there  are 
elsewhere.     And  intellect — where  will  you  find  the  like  ?  " 

"  You  have  the  power  to  find,"  said  Helen;  "  you  know 
where  and  how  to  search." 

"  And  so  will  you,  meine  Freunde  !  only  let  your  soul 
open,  expand  itself.  It  is  contracted  now,  it  is  shut  up,  it 
cannot  see ;  it  is  fenced  in  by  forms,  by  exclusiveness,  by  con- 
ventionalities; that  is  what  you  call  them.  Listen,  sec  what 
forms  the  noble  mind. 


IVORS.  4\) 

'*  '  Ein  edler  Mensch  kann  einem  engen  Kreise 
Kicbt  seine  Bildung  danken  ;  Vaterland 
Und  Welt  muss  auf  ikn  wirken.     Uulim  nnd  Tadel 
Muss  er  ertragen  lernen.     Sich  und  andre 
Wird  er  gezwungen  recht  zu  kennen.     ILn 
Wiegt  nicht  die  Einsamkeit  mehr  schmeiekelnd  ein, 
Ea  will  der  Feind — es  darf  der  Freund  nicht  schonen. 
Dann  iibt  der  Jiingling  streitend  seine  Krufte ; 
F ublt  was  er  1st,  und  fiililt  sick  bald  ein  Mann.'" 

"  Yqs,"  and  Helen's  eyes  sparkled  -with  enthusiasm, 
"  and  if  I  were  a  man,  it  might  be." 

"  Ach  !  that  is  the  narrowness — soul  is  soul — be  it  man 
or  woman's." 

Helen  sighed. 

"  Nay,  mein  Kind,  wliy  sigh  ?  It  is  but  to  strive,  to 
struggle,  perhaps  to  wait;  truth  will  have  the  victory  at  last. 
The  world  is  working  for  it :  women  are  not  what  they  were ; 
they  are  making  a  position  for  themselves ;  their  voices  are 
raised  even  now ;  they  appeal  for  liberty,  and  it  will  be 
granted  them.  As  the  regeneration  of  the  world  approaches, 
the  dimness  is  passing  from  the  eyes  of  men,  and  they  are 
learning  to  acknowledge  in  us  the  same  bein^r  which  lives 
and  works  in  themselves." 

"  You  are  free,"  said  Helen.  "  Even  now  you  have 
marked  out  your  own  path,  and  are  following  it." 

"  Free  !  But  the  freedom  would  never  have  been  bought, 
if  I  had  paused  to  reckon  the  price  to  be  paid  for  it."  Mad- 
ame Reinhard  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  a  cloud  of  sorrow- 
ful thought  passed  over  her  countenance.  "Yet,"  she 
added,  "  I  am  content." 

Helen  pressed  her  hand  affectionately,  and  said :  "You 
know  I  would  help  you  if  I  could." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  know ;  but  none  can.  I  must  keep  it  to 
myself;  but  I  say  again,  I  am  content.  That  is  what  you 
will  be,  if  you  give  yourself  up  to  the  true  inBtincta  of  your 


50  IVORS. 

nature  ;  then  you  will  always  find  companionship  in  the  union 
of  soul  with  soul,  abroad,  though  you  may  fail  to  meet  with 

it  at  home." 

"  But  there  are  so  few  who  could  give  me  this  compan- 
ionship," said  Helen.     "  I  kuow  none  except  yourself." 

"  Come  with  me,  meine  Liebe.  I  will  show  you.  1 
will  make  you  feel  what  mind  can  be ;  what  it  can  work ; 
how  it  can  rise  above  this  earthly  atmosphere ;  how  it  can 
expand  itself,  and  find  communion  with   the  great  and  good 

of  all  ages." 

"  I  am  a  prisoner,"  said  Helen  ;   "  I  go  nowhere  without 

mamma." 

"  Oh  !  Miladi  Augusta  !  she  is  very  careful ;  very  good  ; 
but  she  is  narrow,  narrow ;  you  must  not  be  shut  in  by  her. 
Nothing  great  will  flourish  in  that  air." 

"  Nothing  does,"  said  Helen ;  "  it  sickens  me ;  I  can't 
live  in  it." 

"  Assuredly  not ;  you  were  made  for  another  life." 

"  I  see  through  it,"  continued  Helen.  "  Mamma  calls 
it  religion;  it  is  no  religion  to  me." 

"  Religion !  no,  indeed,"  and  Madame  Reinhard's  eyes 
were  lighted  up  by  excitement ;  il  is  not  religion  pure,  free, 
the  adoration  of  the  heart, — the  voluntary  homage  of  the 
whole  being  ?  It  cannot  be  confined  by  forms  ;  it  needs  no 
mystic  rites.  Give  but  to  the  conscious  soul  the  sense  of 
beauty  and  love,  and  it  will  worship  everywhere.  Whether 
standing  on  high,  amongst  the  glorious  mountains,  or  deep 
hidden  in  the  secluded  valley,  it  will  recognise  greatness, 
majesty,  and  power,  and  prostrate  itself  before  them.  And 
if  nature  is  concealed  from  its  gaze,  it  will  search  amongst 
the  human  hearts,  amongst  which  it  dwells,  and  see  there 
also  the  same  attributes  of  divinity,  and  acknowledge  the 
same  might." 

Helen  understood  only  a  little  of  this  speech,  yet  some- 


IVORS.  51 

thing  in  the  latter  sentence  startled  her,  and  she  said,  "  One 
can  scarcely  speak  of  divinity  in  men." 

"  Not  genius  ?  not  the  undying  spark,  which  is  to  kindle 
soul  after  soul  for  ages  yet  to  come  ?  "  exclaimed  Madame 
Reinhard.     "  Oh  Helen,  are  you  false  to  that  creed  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Helen ;  "  genius  is  what  I  long 
to  meet ;  it  is  what  I  pine  after.  But  where  is  it  to  be 
found,  except  in  books  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  know,  meine  Freunde  ;  as  you  say  you  are 
a  prisoner  ;  but  they  live*  still, — the  men  whose  spirits  shall 
work  for  centuries  yet  to  come,  even  as  he, — this  great  one, 
to  whom  we  have  now  paid  homage."  She  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  book  which  they  had  been  reading. 

"  Mamma  scoffs  at  Goethe,"  said  Helen.  "  She  says  he 
was  a  bad  man." 

''  Mem  a.rmes  Kind!  and,  are  you  to  walk  in  leading 
strings  all  jour  life  ?  What  matters  the  outward  life,  when 
the  inward  heart  is  pure  ?  And  why  deny  the  majesty  of 
genius,  because  it  comes  to  us  in  a  form  to  which  we  are 
unaccustomed  ?     Ah  !   the  world  is  blind,  blind." 

"  And  you  could  show  me  men  who  would  have  power  to 
stir  my  soul  as  he  can  stir  it  ?  "  asked  Helen,  doubtfully. 

•;  He  was  one,  alone — we  do  not  look  for  a  second  ;  we 
would  not  wish  it ;  it  would  mar  the  grandeur  of  his  power. 
But  there  are  others, — men,  aye,  and  women  too; — come  but 
with  me,  and  you  shall  know  them.  They  may  not  suit 
Miladi  Augusta;  they  would  not  drive  every  day  to  kneel 
on  a  hard  bench,  in  a  cold  church,  and  hear  little  boys  groan 
out  dull  tunes  without  time  :  and  they  might  never  bow  their 
budies  down  to  the  ground  as  a  sign  of  reverence ;  and,  per- 
chance, they  don't  know  how  to  work  the  odd  flowers  and 
strange  stitches,  which  Miladi  values  only  just  next  to  her 
prayers.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  they  will  do,  Helen. 
They  will  elevate  you;   they  will  make  you  feel  what  life  is 


52  ivors. 

worth  :  they  will  carry  3-011  beyond  these  outward  customs, 
they  will  teach  you  to  recognise  the  presence  of  the  good  and 
the  beautiful  in  all;  and  they  will  show  you  how  to  work  for 
freedom, — your  own  freedom,  mine,  the  freedom  of  women, 
of  mankind ;  the  emancipation  of  the  human  race  from  every 
rule  but  that  of  mind,  directed  by  benevolence." 

"  You  are  imagining  a  perfect  state  of  things,"  replied 
Helen,  thoughtfully. 

"  And  is  not  the  world  working  towards  perfection  ? 
Look  back  upou  past  age3.  That  is  what  I  want  you  to  do ; 
you  should  read  history  philosophically ;  see  how  mankind 
has  progressed.  We  talk  of  the  days  of  chivalry  ;  were  there 
not  hardships  then,  and  slavery,  and  cruelty,  such  as  are 
never  heard  of  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen  ;  "  that  has  often  struck  me." 

"  And  it  will  strike  you  more,  if  you  will  only  think;  only 
suffer  yourself  to  think.  But  you  are  a  coward,  Helen;  you 
are  afraid  to  cast  off  your  chains,  and  give  an  independent 
opinion." 

"  Because  I  am  always  having  them  recast  around  me," 
answered  Helen.  "  Mamma  dreads  freedom.  She  says  we 
ought  to  put  ourselves  under  guidance  in  all  things,  and  that 
submission  and  obedience  are  the  first  of  duties." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  obedience  to  one's  own  high  instincts — sub- 
mission to  the  mighty  power  of  mind ;  but  with  Miladi 
Augusta  it  is  not  so ;  it  is  submission  to — I  don't  know 
what." 

"  Submission  to  herself,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said 
Helen,  pettishly. 

"Poor  child!"  Madame  Reinhard  became  caressing; 
"  but  it  will  not  last,  Helen." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  is  to  end." 

"  Before  long  you  will  marry.     Then  you  will  be  free." 

Helen's  colour  changed.  She  answered  quickly,  "  I  shall 
never  marry." 


ivors.  53 

"  Never  !  oh  !  such  a  long  day!  "  and  Madame  Eeiuhard 
laughed. 

"  I  should  not  he  happier  if  I  were  married,"  continued 
Helen. 

"  You  would  he  more  free,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  No,  no,"  hegan  Helen,  but  she  was  interrupted. 

"  SuiFer  me  to  speak,  meine  Freunde.  I  have  more  right 
to  do  so  than  you.  It  is  your  English  laws, — your  English 
customs  which  make  it  so.  It  would  not  be  if  women  were 
independent,  as  they  ought  to  be,  and  as  they  must  and  will 
be.  But  now  you  are  tied  ;  you  cannot  move,  unless  you 
profess  to  have  given  up  your  freedom  to  a  husband ;  then 
you  are  your  own  mistress,  or  at  least  you  may  make  yourself 
such." 

"  Profess  !  "  repeated  Helen,  thoughtfully.  The  word 
jarred  upon  her  sense  of  truth. 

A  slight  sneer  passed  over  Madame  Rcinhard's  face. 
"  You  are  so  fanciful,  rnein  Kind.  What  is  in  your  little 
mind  ?  " 

"  That,  if  people  profess,  I  suppose  they  are  bound  to 
practise,"  said  Helen,  "though  I  should  never  like  it." 

"Ah!  that  old-fashioned  notion!  it  dates  from  the  del- 
uge. But,  meine  Liebe,  the  world  has  grown  wiser  since 
those  days.     We  obey  where  we  love,  that  I  grant  you." 

"  And  women  are  supposed  always  to  love  their  hus- 
bands," said  Helen. 

Madame  Reinhard's  answer  was  a  kiss,  so  fond  that  the 
shade  which  had  gathered  upon  Helen's  face  vanished.  She 
turned  again  toGroethe,  and  her  full,  melodious  voice  carried 
Helen  on,  as  in  a  dream  of  enchantment,  whilst  they  read  of 
love  and  genius,  high  aspirations,  and  mournful  passionate 
struggles  against  suffering  and  oppression:  So  naturally  was 
all  described,  so  entirely  were  the  feelings  depicted  consid- 
ered to  be  matti  rs  of  course,  that,   Helen,  in  her  simplicity, 


54  ivoes. 

never  paused  to  inquire  whether  underneath  there  lay  the 
recognition  of  God's  moral  law.  Nothing  offended  her  taste; 
she  did  not  ask,  therefore,  whether  anything  ought  to  offend 
her  principles  ;  and  when  Madame  Keinhard  concluded  hy 
an  eloquent  eulogium  upon  Goethe,  Helen  was  quite  pre- 
pared to  agree  with  her,  and  to  believe  that  Lady  Augusta's 
condemnation  was  to  be  traced  entirely  to,  what  Madame 
Reinhard  termed;  her  narrowness. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Helen  had  many  such  conversations  with  Madame  Rein- 
hard.  They  all  ended  in  a  similar  way,  with  no  definite 
results,  at  least  none  which  could  be  perceived;  only  Helen 
grew  more  discontented,  more  abstracted,  more  wilful,  and, 
when  alone,  more  unhappy.  Madame  Reinhard's  society 
was  a  species  of  intoxication  ;  it  excited  her  for  the  moment, 
but  it  left  depression  and  restlessness  behind.  Helen 
thought  that  it  was  because  in  her  alone  she  could  find  con- 
geniality,  and  therefore  she  was  always  forming  plans  for 
meeting ;  and  when  they  did  meet,  either  in  public  or 
private,  devoting  herself  to  her,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
interests. 

Lady  Augusta  complained,  ana  put  difficulties ,  in  the 
way;  but  she  had  no  arguments  to  bring  forward  against 
the  friendship  strong  enough  to  convince  Helen's  reason. 
She  had  encouraged  the  acquaintance  at  first,  because  Madame 
Reinhard  had  the  reputation  of  talent  and  fashion;  and 
now,  all  that  she  could  say  against  her  was  refuted  by  the 
very  words  which  she  had  herself  used  when  it  was  proposed 
that  she  should  visit  Ivors. 


IYOES.  55 

Yet  Lady  Augusta  had  right  on  her  side, — more  right 
than  even  she  herself  entirely  understood.  One  thing  only 
she  knew, — the  discovery  had  been  made  quite  recently, 
since  she  came  to  London  ; — the  society  which  met  at  Mad- 
ame Reinhard's  hovise  was  not  such  as  she  could  herself 
tolerate,  or  with  which  Helen  could  ever  be  allowed  to  mix. 

"Where  the  fault  lay  no  one  seemed  to  know.  Madame 
Eeiuhard  said  it  was  in  her  husband;  that  she  was  obliged 
'  to  submit  to  his  will ;  that  she  did  so  most  unwillingly  :  and 
her  lamenfations,  added  to  her  talents,  and  the  fascination 
of  her  manners,  induced  the  indifferent  and  selfish  world  to 
accept  her  apologies,  and  to  believe  that  she  was  a  victim  to 
her  husband's  tyranny. 

But  Lady  Augusta's  professions  of  religion  and  strictness 
of  conduct  could  not  thus  be  satisfied.  It  was  against  her 
will  that  Madame  Eeinhard  was  Helen's  friend,  yet  not  in 
the  least  because  she  feared  the  influence  of  her  principles. 
It  was  simply  because  in  the  set  amongst  which  it  was  her 
pleasure  to  move  the  acquaintance  was  condemned.  Madame 
Eeinhard  was  looked  upon  coldly  by  certain  persons,  the 
leaders  of  Lady  Augusta's  religious  world  ; — a  great  deal 
was  said  of  the  mischief  of  latitudinarian  principles;  hints 
given  of  tendency  to  scepticism,  and  anecdotes  related  of 
the  neglect  of  all  outward  religious  observances  in  Madame 
lieinhard's  household.  Helen  believed  nothing  of  all  this. 
She  declared  that  it  was  religious  gossip,  which  she  bated 
much  more  than  that  which  was  worldly.  Now  and  then  site 
repeated  the  stories  to  Madame  lleinhard,  who  received 
them  as  matters  of  course,  and  answered  them  either  by  a 
quiet  smile  of  contempt,  or  an  eloquent  tirade  against  nar- 
row-mindedness. 

It  would  have  been  difficult,  indeed,  for  Helen  to  doubt 
her;  she  had  such  a  How  of  words  at  rnminand, — such  high- 
sounding  phrases  and  plausible  excuses.    And  then  her  sym- 


56  ivoes. 

pathies  were  so  large  !  She  seemed  the  very  personification 
of  charity.  There  was  no  form  of  belief  or  unbelief  which  she 
could  not  tolerate,  except  that  which,  in  the  slightest  degree, 
attempted  to  put  bounds  to  toleration.  And  this  was  very 
charming  to  Helen,  who  was  daily  learning  from  Lady  Au- 
gusta to  consider  that  all  persons  who  endeavoured  to  limit 
the  range  of  truth  were  bent  upon  destroying  its  essence,  and 
making  it  to  consist  in  certain  mysterious  outward  ceremo- 
nials, in  which  the  heart  had  no  share.  True,  Madame  Rein- 
hard  was  seldom  or  never  seen  at  any  place  of  public  worship, 
except  the  Roman  Catholic,  which  she  sometimes  frequented, 
as  she  openly  confessed,  for  the  sake  of  the  music ;  but  who 
could  deny  that  it  is  possible  to  worship  quite  as  devoutly  in 
the  solitude  of  one's  own  chamber  as  in  the  most  splendid 
cathedral?  And  Madame  Reinhard  could  speak,  and  did 
speak,  so  fervently  upon  the  most  solemn  subjects, — commu- 
nion with  the  Supreme  Being — dependence  upon  Him — 
thirsting  after  union  with  His  exalted  Nature, — that  Helen 
naturally  concluded  any  eccentricities  in  outward  conduct  to 
be  the  result  of  education  and  foreign  habits.  She  had  no 
doubt  in  her  own  mind  that  thei*e  was  much  more  real  feeling 
iu  Madame  Reinhard's  religion  tban  in  Lady  Augusta's,  and 
much  more  spirituality  (the  term  was  vague,  but  it  expressed 
to  herself  what  she  meant)  than  in  Mrs.  Graham's. 

Madame  Reinhard's  singularities  were  also  confessed 
openly.  She  owned  that  she  held  some  singular  opinions 
about  the  Bible, — that  is,  they  would  have  been  singular  in 
former  days, — but  they  were  now,  as  she  asserted,  rapidly 
becoming  general.  She  talked  of  myths,  and  allegories,  and 
quoted  Niebuhr  and  the  legends  of  the  early  Roman  kings, 
by  way  of  illustration ;  but  then  she  admired  the  Bible  ex- 
tremely,— indeed,  she  was  quite  enthusiastic  about  it.  There 
was  no  poetry,  she  declared,  equal  to  Isaiah, — nothing  to  be 
found  in  the  whole  compass  of  literature  grander  than  certain 


IYOKS.  57 

descriptions  in  the  Book  of  Revelations;  and,  above  all, — 
and  it  was  this  acknowledgment  upon  which  she  piqued  her- 
self, as  if  it  were  a  homage  from  her  own  powerful  mind  to 
the  force  of  simplicity  and  truth, — no  life  more  touching,  and 
no  example  more  inspiring,  than  that  given  in  the  Gospels. 

Helen  valued  the  Bible  more  than  she  had  ever  done  be- 
fore, after  she  had  discussed  it  with  Madame  Reinhard ;  and 
when  she  saw  Lady  Augusta  drive  orf  in  her  luxurious  car- 
riage to  the  daily  service  in  a  neighbouring  church,  looked  at 
her  with  a  kind  of  pitying  contempt,  and  sat  down  to  read  at 
home;  lulling  herself  into  a  "state  of  dreamy  excitement  by 
the  melody  of  her  favourite  chapters,  and  believing  that  she 
was,  if  not  outwardly  as  strict,  certainly  more  sincere. 

Now  and  then,  however,  though  only  for  a  moment,  Helen 
was  startled  by  the  opinions  of  her  new  friend.  Madame 
Reinhard's  liberality  extended  itself  to  morals  as  well  as  re- 
ligion, and  here  it  was  not  quite  so  easy  to  mislead.  Helen's 
standard  of  duty  might  not  be  high  ;  but,  such  as  it  was,  it 
was  based  upon  truth.  If  she  failed  to  act  up  to  it,  yet  she 
never  excused  herself,  and  therefore  was  not  inclined  to  ex- 
cuse others. 

But  Madame  Reinhard  had  excuses  always  ready  for  her- 
self and  every  one  else,  and  not  only  excuses  but  reasonings, 
mystifying  palliations,  sophistical  arguments,  which  con- 
founded the  distinctive  lines  of  right  and  wrong,  until  it 
was  next  to  impossible  to  separate  them.  And  this  was  at 
first  displeasing  to  Helen.  It  gave  her  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  of  insecurity.  When  a  man  of  powerful  intellect 
and  great  genius^  full  of  the  most  exalted  aspirations,  bank 
himself  to  the  level  of  the  lowest  of  mankind  by  a  vicious 
life,  and  she  was  told  tlmt  she  had  no  right  to  censure,  be- 
cause mind  of  such  a  stamp  could  not  be  judged  by  ordinary 
rules,  she  yielded  to  the  argument,  because  she  had  so  little 
knowledge  of  the  bindinir  force  of  the   eternal  laws  of  God, 


5S  IVOES. 

that  she  had  scarcely  anything  to  say  against  it.  But  it 
was  not  the  sophistry  of  days  or  weeks  which  could  satisfy 
the  misgiving  of  something  wrong  that  rested  at  the  bottom 
of  her  heart.  Helen  believed,  only  because  she  wished  to 
believe.  In  her  inmost  soul  she  felt  that  no  genius,  be  it 
ever  so  great,  can  balance  even  with  a  feather's  weight  the 
power  of  moral  worth ;  yet,  according  to  Madame  Rein- 
hard's  creed,  she  looked  upon  genius,  even  though  uncon- 
nected with  goodness,  as  an  emanation  from  God,  to  be 
reverenced  and  worshipped  for  itself;  and  as  such  submitted 
to  its  influence,  without  allowing  herself  to  inquire  too  mi- 
nutely into  the  right  upon  which  its  authority  was  based. 

All  this  was  doing  her  infinite  harm ;  but  she  was  not  in 
the  least  aware  of  it.  She  was  unhappy,  that  she  knew,  but 
many  sources  existed  to  which  this  fact  might  be  traced, 
besides  that  of  an  ill-regulated  mind. 

One  there  was  especially,  scarcely  acknowledged  by 
Helen,  yet  ever  present  with  her.  Madame  Keinhard  fos- 
tered it  insensibly.  She  was  always  talking  to  Helen  of 
love.  She  looked  upon  it  not  only  as  a  necessary  ingredient 
in  humau  happiness,  but  as  essential  to  the  perfection  of  the 
human  character.  Helen  often  said  that  she  should  never 
marry,  yet  Madame  Reinhard's  conversation,  added  to  her 
own  experience,  made  her  feel  that,  unmarried,  she  must  be 
miserable ;  and  then  she  looked  round  the  circle  of  her  ac- 
quaintance with  a  cold,  criticising,  scornful  eye,  and  the 
aching  of  her  heart  told  her  that  once,  love, — true,  pure 
love,  such  as  man  might  approve,  and  God  would  surely 
bless, — had  been  placed  within  her  reach,  and  she  had  re- 
jected it. 

Deeper  sadness,  deeper  regret,  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
Helen's  heart  than  Madame  Pteinhard  could  reach;  but  it 
was  all  buried,  covered  day  by  day,  more  and  more,  with  the 
thick  shroud   of  wilfulness,  ignorance,  and  false  principles, 


IYOKS.  59 

which  Lady  Augusta's   insincerity  and    Madame   Reiuhar.d's 
plausibility  created  and  fostered. 


CHAPTER  L. 

Helen  consented  to  go  to  Miss  Manners1  soiree  Madame 
Pteinharcl  had  promised  to  be  there,  and  Helen  made  a  virtue 
of  her  compliance,  although  knowing  that,  under  all  circum- 
stances, she  would  in  the  end  have  been  forced  to  yield.  It 
was  one  of  a  series  of  entertainments  which  Miss  Manners 
was  endeavouriug  to  bring  into  fashion.  Strictly  literary, 
she  called  it :  tea,  coffee,  ices,  lectures,  conversation,  and 
supper.  And  there  were  certainly  the  germs  of  very  agree- 
able society  to  be  found  in  it  ;  the  misfortune  being,  as 
Claude  Egerton  had  suggested,  that  almost  every  one  wished 
to  exhibit  his  or  her  peculiar  talents,  instead  of  enjoying 
those  of  othirs.  On  this  occasion,  however,  there  was 
greater  prospect  of  satisfaction  than  usual.  A  lecture  was 
to  be  given  by  one  with  whom  no  one  could  compete;  a 
scientific  man,  and  a  traveller,  who  had  been  working  very 
successfully  for  the  civilisation  of  a  barbarous  and  heathen 
people.  Madame  Heinhard  entered  warmly  into  the  cause ; 
only  lamenting  that  Mr.  Randolph  was  a  little  inclined  to 
be  narrow  in  his  views,  and  thought  a  bishop  essential  to 
their  success.  Her  object  in  going  was  to  become  acquainted 
with  him,  and  discuss  the  whole  question ;  and  Helen,  who 
cared  neither  for  natives,  travellers,  nor  bishops,  yet  pleased 
herself  with  the  notion  that  she  might  hear  agreeable  con- 
versation, and  witness  the  triumph  of  her  friend's  intellect. 
She  looked  forward  to  the  evening  at  last,  with  something 
really  approaching  to  excitement;   especially  when  she  found 


60  IVORS. 

that  Mrs.  Graham,  Susan,  and  Isabella,  tempted  like  herself 
by  the  proposed  lecture,  were  to  be  there  also.  Madame 
Reinhard  had  not  made  Helen  forget  Susan ;  forge  tfulness 
was  not  in  her  nature,  and  the  tie  between  them  had  been 
formed  too  early,  and  cemented  by  too  many  associations,  to 
be  broken,  unless  by  some  sudden  disruption.  They  suited, 
as  so  many  husbands  and  wives  suit,  precisely  because  each 
possessed  what  the  other  wanted.  Helen  rested  upon  Susan, 
and  Susan  admired  and  was  excited  by  Helen.  Yet  they 
had  met  but  little  of  late,  and  always  unsatisfactorily.  There 
was  no  barrier  in  the  way  of  affection,  but  there  was  one  as 
regarded  confidence.  Helen  lived  in  the  present,  and  deep 
feeling  requires  a  past.  And  so  they  were  accustomed  to 
keep  upon  the  surface  of  all  subjects,  each  couseious  of  the 
quicksands  which  lay  beneath. 

Helen's  eagerness,  according  to  what  was  now  becoming 
a  natural  rule,  caused  Lady  Augusta  much  annoyance ; 
although  she  had  before  urged  that  the  invitation  should  be 
accepted.  It  was  too  provoking  that  Helen  could  not  even 
do  what  was  wished,  without  showing  that  she  was  influenced 
by  Madame  Reinhard.  The  feeling  was  shown  in  the  first 
observation  addressed  to  Helen  when  she  appeared  in  the 
drawing-room  to  wait  for  the  carriage. 

"  You  ars  over-dressed,  my  dear.  If  we  were  going 
to  the  Duchess  of  Menteith's  ball,  you  could  not  be  more 
splendid." 

Helen  looked  at  herself  carelessly  in  the  glass.  "  Splen- 
did !  am  I  mamma  ?  I  really  did  not  think  about  it.  I  tola 
Annette  to  give  me  the  dress  which  Madame  Reinhard  ad- 
mired so  much  the  other  evening,  and  it  never  struck  me 
whether  it  would  be  particularly  suitable  or  not ;  but  it  does 
not  signify." 

"  But  it  does  signify,  Helen,  extremely ;  nothing  can  be 
a  greater  mark  of  bad  taste  than  being  over-dressed.     I 


IVORS.  61 

really  wonder  that,  after   the   education  you  have  received, 
you  should  take  delight  in  such  absurd  finery." 

Helen  only  laughed.  Love  of  finery  was  the  last  thing 
of  which  her  conscience  accused  her. 

Lady  Augusta  continued  :  '•'  And  that  vulgar  German 
woman  to  encourage  }'OU  in  it  !  " 

"  Nay,  mamma,"  Helen  interrupted  her  quickly  :  "  the 
vulgar  German  woman,  as  you  are  pleased  to  c-all  her,  has 
nothino-  to  do  with  the  matter.  The  dress  was  worn  last 
week  at  a  ball,  and  you  chose  it  yourself,  and  Madame  Rein- 
hard  praised  your  taste.  It  is  my  own  fancy  wearing  it 
to-night;  and  I  confess  I  see  nothing  splendid  in  it." 

"  You  are  not  likely  to  do  so  whilst  you  are  so  devoted 
to  the  world,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 

Helen  again  looked  at  her  dress,  and  smiled  satirically. 
"  It  would  be  easy  enough  to  overcome  the  world,  if  all  that 
was  required  was  to  put  on  one  dress  instead  of  another." 

"  Signs,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  "  indicative  of  the  spirit 
within."  She  glanced  complacently  at  her  own  sepulchral 
black  satin. 

"  Merely  signs,    and   so    of   no    consequence ! "    retorted 
Helen. 

"  You  are  misled,  Helen  ;  your  mind  is  perverted  by 
German  mysticism.     It  will  lead  you  into  dangerous  error." 

"  I  am  willing  to  run  the  i  i>k,"  said  Helen.  "  Satin,  or 
orown  ho'land,  it  is  all  the  same  to  me,  except  for  the  spirit 
which  is  embodied  in  it." 

"  Spirit !  Embodied  !  "  repeated  Lady  Augusta.  "  Re- 
ally Helen,  you  talk  great  nonsense." 

"  Why  do  you  prefer  dark  colours  to  light,  niamina  ? '' 
said  Helen. 

"  I  am  afahameld  that  you  should  ask  such  a  childish 
question.  I  have  a  regard  to  propriety,  simplicity;  I  wish 
to  show  my  contempt  for  the  world." 


62  ivors. 

"  Then  that  is  your  spirit,  mamma.  Mine  is  to  please  a 
person  I  love.  One  is  of  just  as  much  value  as  the  other  ; 
and  if  my  friend  liked  best  to  see  me  in  brown  holland,  T 
•would  wear  it." 

The  confession  struck  Lady  Angusta  dumb  for  an  instant ; 
then  she  said,  with  an  air  of  determined  authority  :  "  Helen, 
it  is  my  wish  that  you  should  change  your  dress." 

Helen  looked  up  angrily  for  a  moment,  but  her  tone  was 
provokingly  indifferent  as  she  replied  :  "  I  can  just  take  .off 
this  brooch,  mamma,  if  you  dislike  it.  It  sparkles  too  much, 
I  suppose,  to  please  you." 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  you  should  change  your  dress, 
Helen,"  repeated  Lady  Augusta. 

"  There  is  no  time,  mamma.  The  carriage  is  at  the 
door." 

Lady  Augusta  sat  down.  Helen  drew  on  her  gloves. 
The  carriage  was  announced. 

"  I  will  just  knock  at  papa's  study,  and  see  if  he  is  ready," 
said  Helen.     "  He  told  me  he  would  go  if  he  could." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  doing  that,"  replied  Lady  Augusta ; 
"  I  am  not  going." 

"  Then  I  dare  say  he  will  take  me,"  said  Helen,  without 
even  an  accent  of  surprise ;  and  as  she  spoke  the  words,  Sir 
Henry  entered  the  room. 

Lady  Augusta  appealed  to  him  instantly.  "  Sir  Henry, 
I  must  refer  to  your  authority ;  your  daughter  is  beyond  my 
control." 

She  stood  before  the  fire,  the  very  embodiment  of  injured 
dignity. 

Poor  Sir  Henry  was  becoming  used  to  these  scenes;  yet 
they  always  perplexed  him.      He   looked  from  one  to  the 
other.     Helen   went  up  to  him,  playfully,  and  kissed  him 
"  Dear  papa,  you  will   go  with  me  to-night ;   it  will  be   so 
much  more  pleasant  if  you  do." 


ivoes.  63 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear ;  I  can't  say."  He  turned  away 
from  her.     "  Augusta,  what  is  all  this  ?  " 

':  Simply  that  your  daughter  refuses  to  recognize  my  au- 
thority," was  the  reply. 

"  I  can't  have  you  silly,  Helen  ;  do  as  you  are  told  to 
do." 

And  Helen,  with  a  proud,  careless  laugh,  answered,  "  I 
will,  papa,  if  I  know  what  to  do ;  only  the  carriage  is  wait- 
ing, and  we  shall  be  late." 

Sir  Henry  addressed  his  wife.  "What  do  you  wish,  my 
dear  ?     What  is  it  she  refuses  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  wish  her  to  appear,  simply,  suitably  dressed,"  said 
Lady  Augusta.  "  Such  finery  is  fit  only  for  an  opera  dan- 
cer." 

Sir  Henry's  eye  glanced  quickly  over  his  daughter's  figure ; 
but  he  could  see  nothing  in  Helen's  handsome  but  very  be- 
coming dress,  at  all  worthy  of  such  censure. 

"  It  is  a  very  good  dress.     I  don't  see "  he  began. 

Lady  Augusta  interrupted  him  with  a  sigh.  "  Of  course, 
you  don't  see,  my  dear.  You  can't  possibly  understand  the 
proprieties  of  a  lady's  dress.  But  I  must  beg  you  to  believe, 
upon  my  assurance,  that  if  Helen  appears  in  such  extrava- 
gant magnificence  at  a  quiet  literary  soh\e,  she  will  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  room.  But  I  am  free  !  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it!  I  give  it  up  !"  Lady  Augusta  folded 
her  hands  together  with  an  air  of  touching  resignation. 

"  Helen,  my  dear,  go  and  do  what  your  mamma  wishes, 
directly,"  said  Sir  Henry,  in  the  tone  which  Helen  dreaded 
to  disobey.  And  almost  before  the  sentence  was  ended, 
Helen  had  disappeared — conquered. 


64  ivoiis. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

"  An  !  meine  liebe  !  and  you  are  come  at  last  ?  I  gave  you 
up.  But  so  dull,  so  triste  !  Where  is  your  beauty  gone  ? 
Annette  was  asleep  when  she  dressed  you."  Madame  Rein- 
hard  had  made  her  way  to  Helen,  by  breaking  through  a 
crowd  of  admiring  gazers  and  auditors,  who  thought  her 
far  more  interesting  than  the  learned  traveller  and  philan- 
thropist. One  or  two  followed  her  ;  amongst  them  Captain 
Mordaunt. 

Helen's  face  was  clouded  :  she  scarcely  answered. 

Captain  Mordaunt  made  some  silly  flattering  remark 
about  beauty  unadorned,  and  then  the  cloud  deepened,  and 
Helen  drew  Madame  Reinhard  aside. 

"  For  pity's  sake  save  me  from  personal  observations,  es- 
pecially from  that  man.  What  does  it  signify  how  I  look  ? 
what  I  wear  ?  I  thought  you  would  have  known  me  bet- 
ter." 

Madame  Reinhard  laughed.  "  So  proud  are  we,  we  can't 
bear  even  praise  !  But  I  like  you  all  the  better,  mein  Kind. 
Only  confess  you  are  very  sombre  to-night ;  and  it  is  so  daz- 
zling to  see  you  when  you  choose  to  make  the  most  of  your- 
self." 

"  I  have  no  choice  ;  I  am  a  puppet,"  said  Helen. 

"  Ah  !  Miladi  Augusta  !  she  likes  that  burial  gown.  But 
she  should  not  put  it  upon  you ;  you  must  rebel." 

"  I  don't  care  enough  about  it,"  said  Helen,  with  as- 
sumed indifference.  "  But  don't  talk  about  it ;  it  is  an  odious 
subject." 

"  It  is  no  matter,  except  for  freedom,"  continued  Madame 
Reinhard;"  that  weighs  upon  me,  I  own.  I  long  to  see  you 
free." 


ivors.  65 

"  Parents  before  marriage,  husbands  after  ;  where  is  the 
freedom  of  a  woman  in  England  ?  "  said  Helen ;  "  unless  one 
can  follow  the  example  set  one  here."  And  she  glanced  at 
the  further  end  of  the  room,  where  Miss  Manners,  in  her 
quaint  black  jacket  and  the  odd  head-dress,  half  turban,  half 
cap,  was  haranguing,  in  long-winded  sentences,  an  audience 
whose  thoughts  were  centred  in  their  coffee-cups. 

"  That  is  not  freedom,"  said  Madame  Reinhard  ;  her 
eyes  following  the  same  direction.  "  She  is  the  slave  of  the 
world's  opinion.  She  would  give  up  her  singularity  if  peo- 
ple did  not  bow  down  before  it." 

"Then  where  is  freedom  to  be  found?"  a^ain  asked 
Helen.     "If  \*ou  say  in  marriage,  I  can't  agree  with  you." 

Madame  Reinhard  only  smiled.  "  We  will  discuss  that 
another  time,  meine  Hebe.  Look  !  there  comes — Is  not  that 
your  cousin  ?  We  saw  her  in  the  distance  in  the  park." 
And  Helen  leaned  forward,  trying  to  distinguish,  amidst  the 
crowd  near  the  door,  who  might  be  entering.  They  were 
silent  for  a  moment  :  then  Madame  Remhard  laid  her  hand 
upon  Helen's  arm,  and  said  emphatically,  "  Remember,  what- 
ever I  think,  I  will  never  acknowledge  that  hearts  can  be 
constrained  to  love  by  vows.  It  is  all  words, — useless.  If 
they  love,  they  love;  and  their  wills  are  one.  If  they  don't 
love,  then  musi  each  heart    be  free." 

Helen  looked  round  with  an  expression  of  surprise  and 
alarm. 

Madame  Reinhard  laughed  heartily.  "Ah!  I  shock 
you  !  you  misunderstand.  Of  course  we  all  keep  to  outward 
forms;  we  go  on  very  well  together,  that  is  necessary.  All 
I  mean  is,  that  vows  can't  make  us  love  if  we  don't  love." 

"  Then  we  have  no  business  to  marry,"  said  I  [elen,  quickly, 
and  as  the  words  were  uttered  a  pang  shot  through  ber  heart, 
tfaused  by  uiingled  feelings  and  recollections,  which  she  dared 
not  face. 

17 


CG  IVORS. 

"  Qa  depend"  was  Madame  Eeinkard's  reply.  "  Where 
will  you  find  the  hero,  the  grand  one,  worthy  of  you,  able 
also  to  have  you?  but  are  you,  therefore,  to  be  a  slave  to  Mi- 
ladi  Augusta,  and  her  burial  gown  ?  " 

Helen's  lips  moved  as  if  she  would  reply,  but  the  answer 
was  unspoken.  A  sudden  paleness  overspread  her  face,  and 
drawing  back  hastily,  she  sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair. 

"Ah!  what  can  be  the  matter?  you  are  ill.  Speak, 
meine  Hebe."     Madame  Reinhard  bent  over  the  chair. 

Helen's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  eagerly,  and  entreating- 
ingly.     "  Stand  before  me,  don't  let  me  be  seen." 

"  My  child,  no,  if  you  would  rather  not.  But  what  for 
do  you  wish  to  hide  yourself  ?  " 

A  little  reproach  was  to  be  distinguished  in  Madame 
Pteinhard's  tone,  as  she  found  herself  in  the  background,  un- 
able to  see  or  be  seen.  "  You  should  rouse  yourself,  Helen. 
See,  who  is  that  ?     Ah  !  quel  grand  homme  !  " 

A  slight  movement  opened  the  way  before  them,  and 
Claude  Egerton  for  the  first  time  caught  sight  of  Helen. 

He  did  not  appear  startled  :  she  could  have  bore  it  bet- 
ter if  he  had.  He  drew  near  with  his  firm  tread,  his  self- 
controlled  manner  \  that  manner  which  she  had  sometimes 
watched  when  exhibited  to  others,  and  wondered  whether  it 
would  be  possible  for  any  one  unacquainted  with  him  to 
guess  the  depths  of  tenderness  beneath ;  and  each  step 
seemed  to  thrill  her  brain,  whilst  a  mist  covered  her  eyes. 

She  tried  to  be  brave ;  she  tried  to  look  at  him,  to  meet 
him,  as  it  seemed  he  could  meet  her ;  but  the  shame,  the 
overpowering,  crushing  sense  of  shame,  the  remembrance 
that  once — though  only  in  the  excitement  of  goaded  feeling 
— she  had  forgotten  a  woman's  dignity  and  truth,  was  too 
much  for  her  :  and  hastily  rising  from  her  seat,  she  made  her 
escape  through  the  crowd  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  fol 
lowed  by  Madame  Reinhard's  frightened  look  and  eagei 
question  :  "  Helen,  meine  Hebe,  are  you  mad  ?  " 


ITOKS.  G7 

But  Helen  thought  only  of  being  alone  and  unnoticed. 
It  was  all  she  cared  for,  all  she  longed  for — to  look  at  him 
in  the  distance,  to  observe  him  unperceived :  then  for  an  in- 
stant there  came  the  strong  impulse  to  throw  herself  at  his 
feet,  and  ask  him  if  he  could  forgive,  if  he  did  not  utterly 
despise  her,  succeeded  by  the  heavy  sense  of  humiliation, 
which  whispered  that  some  offences  might  be  forgiven,  but 
could  never,  never  be  forgotten.  She  sat  down,  trembling : 
she  thought  that  she  would  summon  her  resolution  and  speak 
to  him.  She  watched  lest  he  should  again  draw  near,  but 
the  lecture  began,  and  all  attention  but  her  own  was  en- 
grossed by  it. 

It  was  interesting  from  the  commencement ;  towards  the 
conclusion  it  became  absorbing,  yet  less  from  the  eloquence 
of  the  speaker  or  the  facts  he  narrated,  than  because  his  heart 
was  in  his  subject,  and  he  carried  other  hearts  with  him. 

When  it  was  ended,  a  number  of  persons  gathered  around 
the  lecturer,  Madame  Eeinhard  amongst  them.  She  took  a 
prominent  part  in  the  conversation  ;  her  bright  eyes  sparkled 
with  almost  dazzling  brilliancy,  and  her  changing  voice  gave 
utterance  to  question,  remark,  and  repartee,  with  wonderful 
and  exciting  rapidity.  And  by  her  side  now  stood  Helen, 
no  longer  humbled,  crushed,  by  the  sense  of  her  own  littleness, 
but  eager,  excited,  scarcely  inferior  to  Madame  lleinhard  in 
talent,  yet  exhibiting  it  as  unconsciously  as  her  beaut  y. 
Her  voice,  indeed,  trembled  at  times,  when  a  dark  face, 
almost  severe  in  its  expression,  was  to  be  seen  tar  in  the  back- 
ground ;  but  Helen,  when  she  caught  the  glance,  turned  pule 
for  an  instant,  and  then  talked  only  the  more  rapidly,  and 
laughed  the  more  lightly,  for  the  pang  of  humiliation  was 
over. 

"You  have  a  strange  set  here  to-night,  my  dear  Julia," 
remarked  Lady  Augusta,  as,  from  the  elevation  of  her  moral 
and  religious  superiority,  she  condescendingly  glanced  around 
the  room. 


G8  ivoes. 

"  Men  of  note  !  women  of  high  intellectual  cultivation  ! ' 
replied  Miss  Manners  :  "  not  known,  it  may  be,  in  the  fash- 
ionable world,  but  all  worthy  of  acquaintance,  though  possibly 
singular." 

"  Very  !  "  escaped  from  Mrs.  Graham,  who  happened  to 
be  near.  "  Pray  " — and  she  looked  towards  the  group  with 
rather  an  anxious  eye ; — "  there  is  one  lady — stout,  dressed 
in  amber  silk  ;  do  you  see  her  ?  Madame  Reinhard  is  just 
speaking  to  her  ;  who  is  she  ?  " 

Miss  Manners  seemed  a  little  embarrassed  : — "  Oh  !  that 
— that  is  the  Baroness  d'Olban;  French,  of  course.  I  never 
saw  her  before  this  evening ;  a  friend  asked  leave  to  bring 
her.     She  is  peculiar." 

"  You  should  be  careful,  Julia,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
authoritatively  ;  "  report  says  she  gambles." 

"  Ah !  my  dear,  report ! — but  what  am  I  to  do,  if  I  am 
to  listen  to  report  ?  I  may  as  well  shut  up  my  house ;  and 
there  is  no  doubt  she  is  excessively  intellectual,  an  authoress; 
she  has  published  some  splendid  poems." 

"  She  is  an  openly  avowed  infidel,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham,  gravely;  and,  without  waiting  for  Miss  Manners' 
reply,  she  told  Isabella  to  remain  with  Lady  Augusta,  and 
went  with  Susan  towards  the  circle,  in  the  centre  of  which 
Helen  had  placed  herself. 

Madame  Eeinhard  was  concluding  an  eloquent  speech 
upon  the  inherent  rights  of  humanity,  the  danger  of  checking 
freedom  of  thought,  the  necessity  of  allowing  every  nation 
to  develope  its  own  powers,  unshackled  by  forms  and  tradi- 
tions. Even  the  thoughtful  lecturer  was  listening  to  her 
with  deference,  whilst  low  murmurs  of  applause  were  heard 
from  the  admiring  audience.  Helen's  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
Madame  Reinhard ;  as  she  ceased,  she  whispered  "  Go  on,  I 
could  listen  for  ever."  Madame  Reinhard  started,  and 
blushed ;  her  piercing  gaze  was   softened  by  an  appearance 


IVORS.  no 

of  womanly  feeling,  and  she  drew  back,  saying  that  she  was 
afraid  she  had  been  delivering  very  bold  opinions.  But 
Helen  grew  eager  from  the  slight  opposition  ;  she  repeated 
her  praise  of  Madame  Reinhard,  and  added  observations  of 
her  own.  Animation  added  to  her  beauty ;  and  some  of  the 
gentlemen  drew  nearer,  and  listened  attentively.  Madame 
Reinhard,  free  from  any  petty  rivalry,  seemed  anxious  to 
bring  her  forward  as  her  friend ;  and  Helen,  flattered  and 
excited,  and  all  unconscious  of  the  lurking  vanity,  felt  her- 
self more  "and  more  at  ease,  and  talked  yet  more  freely. 

"  Elle  est  charmante,  n'est-ce  pas  ? "  murmured  the 
French  Baroness  to  her  nearest  neighbour. 

She  was  speaking  to  Claude.  His  reply  was  scarcely 
audible. 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  I  am  dying  to  know  her.  I  must 
know  her,"  continued  the  Baroness. 

Claude  started;  the  expression  of  his  face  became  sud- 
denly fierce.  Susan  was  nearer  to  him  than  Helen;  she  was 
in  the  outer  circle;  her  mother  had  left  her  for  a  moment. 
He  made  his  way  to  her  and  addressed  her  in  an  under  tunc. 

"  Is  this  pleasant  to  you  ?  would  you  rather  go  back  to 
Mrs.  Graham  ?  " 

Susan  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  look  of  cordial,  simple 
gratitude.  "  Thank  you,  but  nobody  notices  me,  and  it 
amuses  me  to  listen." 

Claude  glanced  at  Helen: — his  words  came  with  diffi- 
culty, but  he  said,  "  Your  cousin  is  amused  also,  I  imagine." 

"  She  enjoys  it,"  said  Susan;  "for  the  moment,  that  is." 

A  look  of  exceeding  pain  came  over  Claude's  face, 
whilst  he  gave  his  attention  to  Helen  again.  She  was  talk- 
ing French  fluently  with  a  strange  gentleman.  There  was  a 
little  timidity  in  her  manner,  which  gave  a  peculiar  charm 
to  the  quick  repartee  in  which  .die  was  indulging;  Claude's 
were   fixed   on  her.     Susan   could   scarcely  endure  the 


70  IVORS. 

expression  of  his  countenance,  it  was  so  unlike  himself;  all 
tenderness  was  gone  from  it.  She  longed  to  stop  Helen,  yet 
could  not  move.  It  was  a  great  relief  when  her  mother's 
voice  was  heard  hehind  her.  "  Susan,  my  love,  will  you  come 
with  me  ?  supper  is  just  ready."  Claude  looked  round  and 
smiled.  But  the  next  minute  he  was  watching  Helen  as 
before.  The  Baroness  d'Olban  went  up  to  Madame  Bein- 
hard. Claude  could  only  have  caught  a  few  words,  but  he 
moved  directly,  placed  himself  between  Helen  and  the  Ba- 
roness, begged  to  be  allowed  to  take  Madame  Beinhard  into 
supper  himself,  and  hastily,  without  any  apology,  introduc- 
ing a  staid,  elderly  gentleman  to  Helen,  confided  her  to  his 
care,  and  effectually  prevented  any  introduction  to  the  dis- 
comfited Baroness. 

Madame  Bteinhard  seated  herself  at  the  supper-table. 
Claude  stood  behind  her  chair.  Helen  and  Susan  were  op- 
posite. Madame  Beinhard  whispered  to  him,  as  he  poured 
out  a  glass  of  wine  for  her  :  "  They  make  a  pretty  contrast, 
one  all  quiet  thought,  the  other  all  life  and  animation." 

She  imagined  she  had  touched  the  right  chord  to  excite 
him  ;  but  he  only  assented  formally,  and  then,  after  a  mo- 
mentary silence,  said  :  "  May  I  ask  if  the  Baroness  d'Olban 
is  your  friend  ?  " 

Madame  Beinhard  turned  so  as  almost  to  face  him. 

"Hush!  "she  said;  "don't  you  see  her?"  The  Ba- 
roness had  just  entered  the  room,  talking  very  loudly ;  and 
Lady  Augusta,  seated  by  Miss  Manners  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  glanced  at  her  with  an  expression  of  concentrated  dis- 
gust. 

Claude  was  not  to  be  repelled.  "  I  trust  yon  will  par- 
don me;   my  question  is  not  one  of  mere  curiosity." 

Madam  Beinhard  put  aside  her  plate,  and  rose  to  make 
room  for  some  one  beside  her.  "  We  will  go,"  she  said,  "  the 
room  is  hot;  "  and  Claude  led  her  again  into  the  drawing, 
room,  and  stood  waiting  the  reply  to  his  question. 


IVOES. 


71 


Madame  Reinhard's  face  showed  amusement  mingled  with 
satire,  as  she  said,  "  You  are  pertinacious." 

"  Very.  I  own  it." 

"  And  if  I  don't  choose  to  answer  your  question  ?  " 

Claude  bent  his  head  rather  haughtily,  and  replied  that 
of  course  it  was  entirely  at  Madame  Reinhard's  option; 
he  had  hoped,  however,  that  she  would  understand  him 
better. 

A  laugh  preceded  the  reply.  "  Ah!  you  men,  you  Eng- 
lish, you  "do  take  offence  so  soon  !  Did  I  say  I  would  not 
answer  ?  Can  I  care  ?  Madame  la  Baronne,  what  is  she  to 
me?" 

"  Nothing,  I  should  hope,"  said  Claude  very  gravely. 

A  little  hesitation  was  evident  in  Madame  Reinhard's 
manner. 

"  You  are  strict,"  she  said.  "  What  do  you  know  about 
her  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  may  not  be  advisable  to  tell.  It  can  never 
be  wise  to  speak  of  one  friend  to  another." 

"  But  that  is  too  bad  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Eeinhard, 
angrily  ;  "  I  did  not  say  she  was  my  friend.  I  do  not  know 
her  ;  I  do  not  care  for  her.  I — she  is  mauvais  ton  ;  she  is 
— Miss  Manners  is  unwise;   it  is  not  well  to  have  her  here." 

"  Or  to  introduce  her  to  young  girls  without  the  sanction 
of  their  parents,"  said  Claude ;  and  he  looked  at  Madame 
Beinhard  with  an  expression  so  quietly  stern  that  for  one 
instant  she  seemed  to  .shrink  from  it. 

Yet  the  feeling  was  shaken  off  almost  as  soon  as  felt;  and 
with  an  air  of  offended  dignity,  Madame  Eeinhard  replied: 
"I  do  not  allow  hints,  Mr.  Egerton,  even  from  my  friends. 
Forgive  me,  if  I  say  that  we  know  each  other  slightly,  and 
it  would  be  better  to  be  open." 

'  .Most  willingly,"  said  Claude.  "  Voii  are  Miss  Clare's 
friend.     I  also"' — his  voice  was  husky,  but  he  went  on  calm- 


73  ivors. 

ly — "  have  known  her  many  years.  That  must  be  my  excuse 
for  venturing  to  interfere.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  spoken 
to  Lady  Augusta." 

Madame  Reinhard  interrupted  him :  "  Speak  to  Miladi 
Augusta  !  But  what  about  ?  Mr.  Egerton,  I  will  be  angry ; 
I  will  not  bear  this.     Why  speak  to  Miladi  Augusta  ?  " 

"  Merely  to  suggest  to  her  that  before  any  new  acquaint- 
ance is  made  by  her  daughter,  it  would  be  well  that  Lady 
Augusta  should  decide  whether  it  is  likely  to  be  a  desirable 
one.  The  Baroness  d'Olban  can  have  no  claim  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Miss  Clare." 

A  gleam  of  sudden  comprehension  lighted  up  Madame 
Reinhard's  face.  "  Ah  !  ich  verstehe.  But  so  foolish  !  La 
paitvre  Baronne  !  You  are  jealous  that  she  should  become 
known  to  Miss  Clare.  Ich  verstehe  !  And  did  you  really 
think  it  would  be  ? — it  was  not  right,  Mr.  Egerton  ;  it  was 
not  fair."  Madame  Reinhard  spoke  in  a  tone  of  just  irri- 
tation. 

"  If  I  were  mistaken,"  said  Claude,  in  a  softened  voice, 
"  you  must  pardon  me.  I  certainly  caught  a  few  words 
which  made  me  think  that  you  were  about  to  comply  with 
some  request." 

"  Some  request !  You  men  are  so  suspicious. — The  Ba- 
roness would  not  venture. — She  knows  me  so  little,  she  would 
not  dare  to  take  the  liberty. — We  do  not  meet;  we  are  not 
acquainted,  except — very  slight,  very  slight  indeed."  Ma- 
dame Reinhard's  eyes  were  raised  to  Claude's  face  fully,  sim- 
ply, so  that  he  could  not  doubt  her. 

The  change  in  his  countenance  and  manner  was  very 
marked.  "  Then  you  are  not  her  friend,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
may  warn  you  against  her.  As  a  man  I  hear  more  than  you 
are  likely  to  do.  I  need  not  enter  into  particulars ;  but  it 
is  well  known  that  she  gambles  frightfully,  that  her  society 
is  anything  but  select,  that  she  is " 


ivors.  73 

"  Un  esprit  fort?"  said  Madame  Reinkard,  with  a  pecu- 
liar accent  of  sarcasm  upon  the  words. 

"  Yes,  that,  and  much  else,  which  it  is  most  undesirable 
for  a  woman  to  be.  How  she  came  here  to-night  I  can't 
imagine." 

"  Ah  !  Miss  Manners  !  she  does  worship  intellect,"  said 
Madame  Reinhard  ;  "  and  the  Baroness  is  stupendous." 

"  So  it  is  said.  I  have  looked  into  her  poems,  and  can 
only  account  for  much  which  I  found  there  by  supposing  a 
tendency  to  insanity." 

"  But  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?  "  exclaimed  Madame  Rein- 
hard.  Then  observing  his  grave  expression,  she  added,  al- 
most as  gravely,  "  But  I  have  read  very  little." 

"  And  you  will  not  read  more,  I  hope,"  said  Claude, 
earnestly;  "there  is  much  in  them  likely  to  do  immense 
mischief." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  to  some — the  young.     But  I,  ^n  old  married 

woman ;  "  and  Madame  Reinhard  laughed,  and  added, 

"  but  you  must  not  fear,  and  you  must  ask  me  to  forgive,  for 
you  did  me  wrong." 

Claude  held  out  his  hand,  aud  said,  "  I  do  ask  for  for- 
giveness ;  but  I  think  I  have  an  excuse.  I  could  not  bear 
any  person,  any  young  lady  with  whom  I  might  have  even  a 
slight  acquaintance,  to  be  brought  in  contact  with  such  ;i 
person." 

Madame  Reinhard's  smile  was  not  quite  satisfactory  to 
Claude.  She  murmured  to  herself  "  La  pauvre  Baronne  /" 
and  then  remarking  that  it  was  late,  begged  Claude  to  in- 
quire if  her  carriage  had  been  announced. 

Lady  Augusta  returned  home  very  much  out  of  humour. 
Sir  Henry  took  his  candlestick  and  retired,  with  only  one 
remark,  that  Mr.  Randolph  was  a  first-rate  speaker,  and 
would  make  a  capital  figure  in  the  Bouse.  Helen  was  about 
to  follow  his  example,  bul  Bhe  was  seized  upon  for  a  lecture. 


74  IVOKS. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  my  dear,  I  have  something  to  say  tc 
you;  "  and  Helen  sat  down.  "Your  behaviour  to-night  has 
not  pleased  me.  I  don't  choose  to  have  such  a  show  of  in- 
dependence. Madame  Reinhard  may  be  a  very  good  woman, 
but  I  can't  allow  of  your  devoting  yourself  exclusively  to 
her.  Your  cousin  Susan  was  quite  neglected.  Captain 
Mordaunt  was  treated  with  actual  incivility." 

Helen  answered  hastily :  "  Mamma,  you  may  criticise 
my  conduct  towards  Susan  as  much  as  you  please.  She  un- 
derstands me  too  well  to  be  offended.  Towards  Captain 
Mordaunt  I  must  and  will  consult  only  my  own  feelings,  my 
sense  of  what  is  true  and  dignified." 

"  There  is  little  need  to  tell  me,  Helen,  that  you  will  fol- 
low your  own  will ;  that  is  shown  by  every  look  and  action. 
Even  your  dress " 

Helen  grasped  the  arm  of  her  chair  tightly,  and  her  lips 
moved,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  Even  your  dress,"  continued  Lady  Augusta,  "  is  noth- 
ing but  an  exaggeration  and  caricature.  I  suppose  because 
I  found  fault,  justly,  with  your  uncalled-for  magnificence, 
you  chose  to  appear  so  entirely  without  ornament  that  Julia 
Manners  even  remarked  it." 

"It  was  late,"  replied  Helen,  in  a  tone  of  smothered  re- 
sentment ;   "  there  was  no  time  for  ornament." 

"  A  paltry  excuse,  Helen  !  unworthy  of  you !  But  it  is 
all  part  of  the  same  determination.  You  have  but  one  ob- 
ject in  life,  to  thwart  me." 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  go  to  bed,  mamma  ? "  replied 
Helen.     She  stood  up  with  her  lighted  candle  in  her  hand. 

Lady  Augusta  vouchsafed  no  reply  and  Helen  went  to 
her  room  in  towering  indignation. 

Bondage  !  the  bondage  of  married  life  !  it  could  be  noth- 
ing to  this.  No  vows,  no  promises,  no  duties  could  be  so 
galling  as  this  perpetual  tutelage  ;   and  to  last — how   long? 


ivoks.  75 

For  years  and  years — through  youth  and  middle  life,  it 
might  be  ;  in  all  probability  it  would  be.  Surely  Madame 
Eeinhard  was  right.  There  was  no  freedom  in  England  for 
an  unmarried  woman  in  her  parents'  house.  Let  her  a^e 
and  experience  be  what  it  might,  those  who  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  treat  her  as  a  child  would  still  continue  to  do  so, 
and  the  world  would  look  upon  her  as  such.  Madame  Rein- 
hard  was  not  so  many  years  older,  but  she  was  free.  She 
went  where  she  liked,  did  as  she  liked,  chose  her  own  friends, 
her  own  society,  read  her  own  books,  gave  her  intellect  free 
scope.  It  was  all  the  charm  of  that  magic  word,  Madame. 
Under  the  shelter  of  subjection  she  was  free;  and  Helen 
might  be  free  also,  more  free  even  than  Madame  Rein- 
hard,  whose  husband,  it  was  whispered,  was  often  ill-tem- 
pered and  exacting.  One  word,  and  the  simple,  vapid, 
devoted  Captain  Mordaunt  would  lay  at  her  feet  his  fortune, 
his  expectations,  his  prospective  title,  all  that  could  give  her 
independence  in  the  world,  and  ask  only  in  return  a  nominal 
submission.  In  her  grievous  inconsistency,  Helen  allowed 
herself  to  meditate  upon  the  possibility,  until  a  remembrance 
of  the  past  flashed  across  her  mind,  and  the  image  of  Claude 
Egerton,  as  she  had  that  night  seen  him,  rose  up  before  her. 
All  excitement  was  gone  then — all  hope,  all  feeling,  but  that 
heavy,  overwhelming  sense  of  shame.  No,  the  freedom  which 
she  had  pictured  could  never  give  her  happiness. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

"  Tired,  my  child?"  said  Mrs.  Graham, as  Susan  sat  at  work 
the  next  morning,  looking  pale,  and  almost  out  of  spirits. 

"A  little,  mamma;  but  I  think  my  mind  is  more  tired 
than  my  body.     It  always  is  after  I  bave  been  at  ;i  party." 


76  ivoes. 

"  There  could  not  Lave  been  much  to  tire  you  last  night,'"' 
observed  Anna,  drawing  near  Susan  and  appearing  quite  re- 
lieved at  the  prospect  of  a  little  conversation.  "  You  seem 
to  me  to  have  done  nothing  but  sit  still  and  listen  to  what 
one  might  just  as  well  read  in  a  review." 

"  Lectures  are  different  from  reviews,  though,"  observed 
Isabella.  "  You  would  understand  it,  Anna,  if  you  had  been 
with  us  last  night.  I  might  have  read  precisely  the  same 
words  in  a  book  and  they  would  have  had  no  effect  upon  me." 

"  Words  read  come  to  one  through  the  medium  of  one's 
mind,  words  spoken  through  that  of  the  speaker.  I  suppose 
that  makes  the  difference,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham.  "  But, 
Susan,  the  lecture  did  not  tire  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma  !  I  could  have  listened  for  another 
hour.  But  thinking,  and  wondering,  and  looking  at  every- 
body— that  is  the  fatigue  in  society.  I  am  always  trying  to 
understand  people,  and  I  never  can.  That  strange  French 
Baroness,  and  Madame  Beinhard,  and  Helen,  and  Mr.  Eger- 
ton — they  are  all  such  mysteries." 

"  Madame  Beinhard  is  fascinating,"  said  Isabella.  "  I 
don't  wonder  at  Helen's  being  so  bewitched  with  her." 

"Mamma  looks  grave,"  observed  Anna;  "  she  doesn't 
like  Madame  Beinhard." 

"  And  Mr.  Egerton  does  not,"  observed  Susan. 

"  I  admire  her,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  that  is  so  cold  !  "  exclaimed  Isabella. 

"  You  would  not  have  me  say  I  love  her,  my  dear  child, 
when  I  have  not  seen  her  above  half-a-dozen  times  in  my 
lite." 

"  But  she  is  so  clever,  so  brilliant  and  original.  She  has 
real  genius  !      Mamma,  one  must  delight  in  genius  !  " 

"  Madame  Beinhard's  genius  would  disappoint  me,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Susan. 

"  Because  you  are  so  prosaic,  Susan.     You  can't  separate 
what  people  feel  and  think  from  what  they  do." 


Ivors.  77 

"  It  is  rather  difficult,  I  own,"  replied  Susan,  quietly. 
"  But,  mamma," — and  she  turned  to  her  mother — "  is  genius, 
or  talent,  or  intellect  of  any  kind,  to  be  admired  for  itself? 
That  is  what  I  have  been  thinking  about  all  the  morning." 

"  And  all  last  night,  too,  I  suspect,"  exclaimed  Anna. 
'"What  do  you  think,  mamma,  was  Susan's  observation  when 
she  woke  me  up  from  my  comfortable  sleep  at  ttne  o'clock 
this  morning  ?  '  I  am  very  glad  I  don't  live  with  geniuses; 
I  am  sure  I  should  be  very  wicked  if  I  did.'  " 

"  Possibly  Susan  had  arrived  at  a  right  conclusion,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Graham,  laughing  ;  "  though  it  was  rery  unmer- 
ciful to  trouble  you  with  it  at  such  an  irrational  hour." 

"  But,  mamma,  mamma  !  "  exclaimed  Isabella;  "  genius 
make  one  wicked  ?  How  can  it  ?  It  is  divine  !  it  comes 
from  God  !  " 

"  So  you  may  say  of  personal  beauty,  which  we  are  all 
apt  to  estimate  wrongly,'7  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  But  you  cannot  put  that  on  a  par  with  genius  !  "  ex- 
claimed Isabella. 

"  Certainly  not ;  only  as  it  is  a  gift  of  God  it  is  worthy 
of  admiration,  and  we  do  admire  it.  Anything  which  raises 
a  man  above  his  fellows,  even  physical  force  alone,  will  ex- 
cite the  feeling.  If  we  could  see  a  giant  tear  up  a  tree  by 
its  roots,  we  should  admire  him." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  mamma!  with  a  certain  kind  of  admiration," 
replied  Isabella,  in  a  disappointed  tone.  "  But  who  would 
care  for  that  ?  " 

"  No  one  with  any  appreciation  of  that  which  is  really 
admirable,  my  dear  child.  Yet  I  am  saying,  I  think,  what 
is  true.  The  feelings  seem  to  me  to  rest  on  the  same  basis, 
the  sense  of  power,  and  only  to  differ  in  degree." 

Even  Anna  was  startled  by  this,  ami  broke  in  suddenly 
with  an  expression  of  dissent. 

"  I  suppose,"  said   Mis.   Graham,  quietly,  "  the  highest 


78  iyors. 

intellect  and  most  consummate  genius  in  the  universe,  put- 
ting aside — if  one  may  venture  so  to  say — the  intellect  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  is  that  of  Satan." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  and  some  expression  of 
pain  on  Isabella's  face ;  then  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  But 
we  could  never  worship  that." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,  my  love.  I  question,  whether,  if  we 
could  analyse  our  feelings,  we  shoald  not  all  find  that  admi- 
ration, approaching  to  worship,  is  mixed  up  with  our  idea  of 
Satan — not  admiration  of  his  wickedness,  but  of  his  intellect 
and  power  :  the  same  feeling,  mi  fact,  which  shows  itself  more 
plainly  in  the  homage  we  pay  to  what  we  often  call  great- 
ness in  our  fellow  creatures ;  to  Napoleon,  for  instance,  or 
Alexander  the  Great ;  or  perhaps  to  intellectual  superiority 
only,  as  in  Goethe,  or  Dante,  or  Shakspeare." 

"  Goethe,  and  Dante,  and  Shakspeare  !  But,  mamma, 
they  were  so  different  !  "  exclaimed  Anna. 

"  Yet  we — meaning  by  we,  the  people  of  this  present 
age — are  in  the  habit  of  placing  them  in  the  same  category, 
my  love.  The  question  of  moral  worth  does  not  weigh  with 
us.  They  were  great,  therefore  they  were  to  be  reverenced. 
Satan  also  is  great,  therefore  he  is  to  be  reverenced.  The 
feeling  is  perfectly  natural ;  and  we  find  that  in  heathen 
countries  it  does  actually  develope  itself  into  devil  worship — 
the  worship  of  power  apart  from  goodness." 

Isabella  looked  extremely  shocked  ;  and  Anna  remarked 
that  it  was  a  very  perplexing  subject,  for  in  the  Bible  the 
ten  talents  obtained  the  highest  reward,  which,  of  course, 
showed  that  superiority  of  any  kind  must  be  an  advantage. 

"  But  then  they  gained  ten  talents  more,"  remarked  Su- 
san. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham ;  "  as  our  Lord  says,  '  To 
whom  much  is  given,  of  hiru  will  be  much  required.'  And 
the  much,  Anna,  must  be  not  what  the  world  estimates,  but 


ivoks.  79 

■what  God  estimates.  "We  are  expressly  told  that  '  not  many 
wise  men  after  the  flesh  are  called  ;  '  and  that  '  God  hath 
chosen  the  foolish  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  wise.' 
If  these  words  mean  anything  they  must  mean  that  the  tal- 
ents which  God  will  reward  are  not  intellectual,  but  moral." 

"  But  those  who  had  the  most  given  them  were  to  obtain 
the  highest  glory,"  persisted  Isabella. 

"  Certainly,  dear  child.  But  then  we  must  all  allow 
that  great  advantages  involve  great  risks  and  temptations. 
Therefore,  if  the  ten  talents  gained  ten  more,  there  must 
have  been  greater  watchfulness  and  earnestness  than  in  the 
case  of  the  five  talents,  which  gained  five." 

"  But  supposing  the  ten  talents  had  only  gained  two  or 
three  ?  "  said  Susan,  thoughtfully. 

"  Then  sureby,  my  love,  they  would  have  fallen  far  short 
of  the  purpose  for  which  they  were  given,  and  so  the  person 
who  possessed  them  would  have  been  worthy  rather  of  blame 
than  reward.  Remember,  I  am  only  carrying  out  our  Lord's 
parable, — not  supposing  that  we  can  really  be  anything  but 
unprofitable  servants  at  the  best." 

"  I  think  I  see,"  observed  Isabella,  a  little  unwillingly; 
"  but  it  is  very  difficult  exactly  to  measure  what  every  one 
has  done  and  what  he  might  have  done." 

"  Not  only  difficult,  but  impossible,"  observed  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  Talents  in  the  Bible,  as  we  all  know,  mean  every 
kind  of  advantage  ;  and  we  can  neither  tell  what  talents 
others  possess,  nor  what  use  they  make  of  them  really.  But 
the  tendency  in  the  present  day  is  to  call  a  man's  intellectual 
gifts  his  talents,  and  to  reverence  him  according  to  the 
amount  bestowed,  and  not  according  to  the  use  made  of 
them.     There  lies  the  danger." 

"  But  I  would  not  reverence  the  man,  but  only  his  gifts," 
said  Isabella. 

"  Very  plausible,  my  love;  but  not  very  possible.     "When 


SO  IVORS. 

you  think  of  a  man,  you  must  think  of  him  as  a  whole ;  you 
may  analyse,  and  divide,  and  make  metaphysical  distinctions 
in  abstract  reasoning, — but  the  very  oneness  of  our  being, 
which  constitutes  our  personal  identity,  compels  us  to  feel 
towards  each  individual  as  one,  to  form  one  idea  of  him;  and 
if  this  idea  be  mingled  with  reverence,  from  whatever  cause, 
we  do  reverence  the  man,  and  not  his  gifts.  Think,  for  in- 
stance, of  any  person,  past  or  present, — Napoleon,  William 
the  Conqueror,  or  any  individual  of  your  acquaintance.  If 
it  were  not  for  this  power  of  forming  one  conception  of  the 
individual,  combining  all  you  know  of  his  powers,  intellec- 
tual, physical,  and  moral,  collecting,  as  it  were,  the  essence 
from  his  being,  you  would  really  have  no  idea  of  him  at  all. 
He  would  be  to  you  merely  different  phases  of  a  living  crea- 
ture,— a  succession  of  phantoms,  as  he  may  have  appeared 
at  different  periods  of  his  life.  There  must  be  something 
distinct  and  beyond  all  this ;  and  if  you  try  to  describe  any 
person,  you  will  feel  that  there  is.  You  may  say  he  is  pas- 
sionate, generous,  clever,  moody,  fastidious,  anything  you 
like ;  but  you  will  feel  all  the  time,  that  you  are  not  really 
making  the  person  to  whom  you  are  talking  understand  your 
idea  of  the  man.  It  is  this  idea,  or  rather  this  reality, — 
for  no  doubt  it  is  in  its  nature  a  reality, — which  excites  your 
feeling  of  whatever  kind;  and  if  this  should  be  reverence, 
you  do,  and  must,  reverence  the  man,  the  essential,  indi- 
vidual, man  ;  and  if  he  be  not  worthy  of  reverence,  if  his 
will  be  not  in  accordance  with  God's  will,  and  his  heart 
subject  to  (rod's  law,  then  you  are  allowing  yourself  to  hon- 
our that  which  is  not  honoured  by  God." 

Isabella  looked  very  grave,  and  said,  that  it  was  next  to 
impossible  not  to  admire  talent  of  any  kind,  and  still  more 
genius. 

"  I  don't  object  to  your  admiring  it,  my  love,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham ;   "  admire  it,  if  you  will,  as  you  do  a  beautiful 


IVORS.  81 

face,  or  a  beautiful  picture  ;  but  don't  let  reverence  be  mixed 
up  with  admiration." 

"  Don't  worship  Madame  Beinhard,"  said  Anna,  laughing. 

"  Mamma  does  not  like  us  to  be  personal,"  replied  Isa- 
bella, rather  quickly. 

"  Unless  there  may  be  some  good  reason  for  it,"  observed 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  I  am  very  willing  to  give  you  my  opinion  of 
Madame  Eeinhard,  and  you  can  judge  for  yourselves,  as  you 
see  more  of  her,  whether  I  am  right.  I  think  she  is  brilliant, 
but  rather  superficial ;  with  a  great  many  good  qualities, 
which  unfortunately  want  a  foundation,  and  so  are  perhaps 
only  the  more  likely  to  lead  her  astray." 

"  So  very,  very  cold,  mamma  !  "  exclaimed  Isabella. 

"  My  love,  I  really  can't  be  enthusiastic  about  any  per- 
son, when  I  see  that  self-indulgence,  instead  of  self-denial,  is 
the  rule  of  life." 

u  Does  Madame  Beinhard  lie  on  sofas,  and  eat  and  drink 
a  great  deal?  "  asked  Anna,  satirically. 

Isabella  gave  an  indignant  negative. 

Susan  smiled,  and  said,  that  even  according  to  Helen's 
account,  Madame  Heinhard  was  not  indifferent  to  the  com- 
forts of  life. 

"  And  why  should  she  be  ?  "  inquired  Isabella.  "  Mamma, 
you  don't  uphold  asceticism." 

"  Because  I  believe  that  very  often  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  self-conceit  and  spiritual  pride  concealed  beneath  it,  my 
love.  But  I  do  most  entirely  uphold  thai  self-restraint, 
which  never  allows  enjoyments  to  get  the  mastery  over  us  ; 
which  can  give  them  up  when  required,  either  by  reason  or 
religion.  But  really,  Anna,  as  regards  .Madame  Heinhard, 
I  was  thinking  much  more  of  intellectual  than  physical  sclf- 
indulgeuce." 

'•  Yes  ;  1  suppose  she  is  ict  likely  to  be  tempted  bj  wine 
and  cigars,"  said  Anna,  laughing. 


82  IVORS. 

"  But  she  would  allow  them  to  others,"  observed  Susan 
quickly.     "  Vivre  et  laissez  vivre,  is  her  motto." 

"  She  is  charitable,"  said  Isabella. 

"  Because  she  requires  charity  herself,"  observed  Anna 
"  Mamma,  is  not  that  true  ?  " 

Mrs.  Graham  only  smiled. 

"  Mamma,  now,  you  must  answer,"  continued  Anna. 

"  Well !  if  I  must,  I  will  say  that  I  don't  think  it  can  be 
true  charity  which  puts  aside  the  laws  of  God.  Therefore, 
if  we  have  strict  rules  for  ourselves,  we  must,  I  suppose,  ne- 
cessarily be  somewhat  strict  with  our  neighbours.  We  may 
make  excuses  for  them,  but  we  must  not  call  wrong  right. 
And  self-indulgence   of  any  kind  is  unquestionably  wrong." 

Mrs.  Graham  moved,  intending  to  go  away,  but  Isabella 
detained  her  :  "  One  more  word,  mamma.  Intellectual  self- 
indulgence  !     I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  it." 

u  The  enjoyment  of  intellect  without  regard  to  religion 
and  morality,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham.  "  I  have  heard  Madame 
Reinhard  acknowledge  that  she  reads  books  which  no  woman 
ought  to  read,  merely  because  they  are  clever.  I  have  heard 
her  speak  enthusiastically  in  praise  of  persons  whose  lives  are 
openly  scandalous,  for  the  same  reason  ;  and  I  am  afraid  she 
courts  their  society.  She  confesses  that  she  studies  only  for 
the  purpose  of  pleasing  herself,  and  that  she  can  see  no  other 
use  or  object  in  study.  Now  all  this,  Anna,  must  be  perni- 
cious ;  it  must  lower  a  person's  standard  of  right,  and  it  is 
undoubtedly  based  upon  selfishness.  Of  course  I  should  not 
speak  so  freely  of  Madame  Reinhard  to  any  one  else  ;  but 
you  must  meet  her  occasionally,  and  you  are  very  likely  to 
be  fascinated  by  her,  as  Helen  is,  and  so  I  would  rather  put 
you  on  your  guard  beforehand." 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  not  have  been  put  on  my  guard,'" 
said  Isabella,  when  her  mother  left  the  room. 

And  Susan  looked  up  from  her  work,  and  added  :  "  I 


IVORS.  83 

heard  Mr.  Egerton  say  very  much  the  same  as  mamma  a  few 
evenings  s'nee." 


CHAPTER  LIU. 

"  Ah  !  mein  liebes  Hcrz  !  alone,  and  thinking  !  may  I  know 
tfe"3  thoughts  ?  " 

Hftlen  had  not  seen  Madame  Reinhard  for  two  days,  and 
she  lo  jked  up  with  pleasure  at  the  sound  of  her  voice  ;  but 
there  was  still  something  sad  in  the  expression  of  her  coun- 
tenance. 

"  My  thoughts  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,"  was  her  reply; 
"  you  would  not  understand  them." 

"  But  that  is  judging  beforehand  ;  and  I  may  be  wiser 
than  you  think.     Suppose  I  could  guess  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Helen,  quickly. 

"  And  wherefore  ?  but  perhaps  you  would  not  like  them 
to  be  told  ?  " 

A  faint  tinge  of  colour  was  visible  on  the  cheek  ;  then  it 
deepened  and  spread,  and  still  the  gaze  continued  ;  till 
Helen,  unable  to  bear  it,  turned  away  with  tears  gathering 
in  her  eyes. 

"  You  arc  brooding  over  the  past — sorrowing  for  it — 
meine  Hebe." 

"  I  don't  sorrow,  I  have  nothing  to  sorrow  for,"  exclaimed 
Helen,  quickly. 

"  jS'ay,  then  I  am  ignorant.  Have  we  not  often  and 
often  told  each  other  of  the  beautiful  past  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  beautiful,"  said  Belen.  "  When  I  possessed 
it  I  did  not  care  for  it  ;  and  I  don't  think  about  it  now.  If 
the  present  were  different,  L  should  not.'' 

A    shadow   of  annoyance  was    visible  on  Madame  Rein- 


8i  IVORS. 

hard's  face.  She  answered  rather  satirically,  "  The  present 
is  what  we  all  choose  to  make  it.  If  we  think  of  earthly 
things  it  becomes  earthly.  Will  you  choose  that  ?  will  you 
be  content  to  live  the  life  of  every  day,  like  the  quiet  cousin 
we  saw  the  other  night,  and  her  grim  cavalier,  Mr.  Egerton  ?  " 

If  Helen  had  chosen  to  look  at  Madame  Reinhard,  she 
would  have  seen  a  glance  which,  whilst  it  seemed  to  wander 
all  round  the  room,  took  in  every  change  in  her  face ;  but 
her  eyes  were  bent  in  another  direction  as  she  replied,  with 
cold  self-restraint,  "  You  are  rapid  in  your  conclusions." 

"  Rapid  perhaps,  but  true  ;  do  they  not  suit  ?  like  twins  ? 
she  is  so  very — what  do  you  call  it  ?  amiable,  respectable  ; 
and  he  is  John  Bull — yes,  very  decided  John  Bull." 

"  That  was  not  your  impression  when  you  exclaimed 
'  Quel  grand  liomme  !  '  '  said  Helen,  forcing  herself  to  speak 
coldly. 

"  You  remember  that,  do  you  ?  yes,  a  first  impression, 
and  a  true  one.  Quel  grand  liomme  !  in  the  outward  man  ; 
but  in  the  spirit,  oh  !  no,  no." 

"  Mr.  Egerton  has  the  reputation  of  living  up  in  the 
clouds,"  said  Helen,  in  a  perverse  tone.  "  There  are  not 
many  John  Bulls  to  be  found  there." 

"  In  the  clouds  ?  does  he  attain  so  high  ?  I  should 
never  have  thought  it,"  said  Madame  Reinhard,  ironically. 
"  And  yet,  yes,  I  suppose  in  his  highest  elevation  he  may 
reach  the  clouds ;  but  the  blue  sky,  the  pure  aether,  which 
allows  the  free  gaze  to  pierce  even  to  the  infinite, — Helen,  he 
never  has  soared  there." 

"  Very  few  persons  have,"  said  Helen. 

"  Pardon  me,  mon  amie.  Has  it  not  been  said  that  we 
are  all  poets  when  we  read  a  poem  well  ?  So  they  who  un- 
derstand, who  sympathize  with,  the  noble  minds  whose 
dwelling  is  in  the  depths  of  infinity,  must  themselves  be  of 
them." 


ivors.  85 

"  It  is  a  flattering  creed  at  any  rate,"  said  Helen,  with 
an  incredulous  smile. 

"  And  a  true  one  :  and  necessary  to  be  believed,"  contin- 
ued Madame  lleinhard.  "  Great  minds  feel  themselves 
great,  or  they  never  would  be  great.  And  lesser  minds  must 
feel  what  they  are  and  what  may  be,  or  they  will  never  at- 
tain to  their  perfection.  Look  round  the  world,  or  rather 
listen  to  me,  who  have  had  greater  opportunities  of  observa- 
tion than  you  :  there  are  hundreds  now  wasting  themselves 
in  inaction,  doomed  to  ignoble  obscurity,  who  might  have 
shone  amongst  the  bright  ones  of  enduring  ages,  could  they 
but  have  realised  their  own  powers." 

"  Is  this  a  lecture  for  me  ?  "  said  Helen.  "  I  am  quite 
willing  to  hear  what  my  own  powers  are." 

"  Nay,  not  when  you  speak  in  that  tone.  We  will  talk 
of  something  else, — your  work  pattern — Miladi  Augusta's 
crochet." 

"  I  have  vexed  you,"  said  Helen,  affectionately. 

"  You  never  vex  me,  meine  licbe  ;  it  is  the  mist :  I  wait 
till  it  is  past." 

"  But  it  is  past, — it  shall  be,"  said  Helen.  "  I  will  hear 
anything  you  have  to  say,  and  believe  it — if  I  can,"  was 
added  in  a  doubtful  tone. 

"  I  wish  you  only  to  believe  in  yourself,"  continued 
Madame  Reinhard.  "  I  would  not  have  you  lower  yourself 
by  admiring  that  which  is  beneath  you.  You  speak  of  that 
Mr.  Egerton  as  though  he  were  great,  but  he  is  not.  Shall 
1  tell  you  what  he  is  ?  I  read  it  in  the  first  moment  that  he 
talked  with  me.  He  is  of  those  who  feel,  though  they  n.ay 
not  say,  that  women  have  no  right  to  independence  of 
mind." 

'■  .No  !  no  !  "  exclaimed  Helen,  iropatii  nilv.  Then  cheek- 
ing herself,  with  the  instincl  of  concealing  her  own  feelings, 
she  added,  coldly,  "  Vet,  in    < respect,  I  can   imagine  that 


86  itors. 

you  are  right.  Mr.  Enerton  would  never  endure  his  wife  to 
hold  opinions  different  from  his  own." 

"  And  so  he  would  be  a  tyrant.  Ah  !  Helen,  Helen, 
there  are  souls  which  unite  as  one — which  are  one,  but  it  is 
the  union  of  freedom,  not  of  subjection.  Your  Mr.  Eger- 
ton  is  a  man  of  forms,  and  creeds,  and  rules :  the  woman 
who  would  be  happy  as  his  wife  must  be  content  to  cut  and 
narrow  her  own  mind  to  fit  his.  And  there  may  be  such  an 
one."     Madame  Reinhard  paused. 

And  Helen  said,  in  a  voice  which  never  faltered,  "  My 
cousin  Susan,  for  instance." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  I  know  but  little,  yet  I  can  sometimes 
see.  She  has  been  brought  up  (that  is  what  you  English 
call  it,  is  it  not  ?) — brought  up,  taken  by  the  hand,  trained, 
led.  She  would  close  her  eyes  and  follow  blindfold,  and  think 
she  saw.     Ah  !  meine  liehe  !  how  many  there  are  like  her  !  " 

"  It  may  be  a  pity  there  are  not  many  more,"  said  Helen, 
in  a  constrained  voice. 

"  You  think  so,"  replied  Madame  Reinhard.  "  Well, 
you  may  be  right.  Of  course,  if  there  are  Mr.  Egertons, 
there  must  be  Miss  Grahams  to  suit  them.  But  " — she 
seized  Helen's  hand,  and  forced  her  to  look  towards  her — 
"  let  them  be  what  they  will  to  each  other,  mein  Kind,  I 
would  kneel  in  thankfulness  that  you  will  never  consent  to 
be  a  slave." 

Helen  made  no  reply. 

Madame  Reinhard  bent  forward  and  kissed  her  forehead, 
and  whispered,  "  Freedom,  Helen,  freedom!  the  dearest  gift 
which  God  can  bestow." 

Helen's  answer  was  bitter : — "  I  ask,  as  I  have  asked  you 
often  before, — where  am  I  to  find  it  ?  at  home  ?  " 

"  And  I  answer,  as  I  have  answered  often  before, — in  a 
home  of  your  own." 

"  I  have  such  a  choice  !  "  replied  Helen,  almost  angrily. 


IVORS.  O  l 

"  Captain  Mordaunt,  perhaps,  would   be  your  recommenda- 
tion, by  way  of  securing  an  intellectual  companion." 

"  Ah  !  Monsieur  le  Capitaine !  There  are  many  worse 
persons  in  this  naughty  world  than  Monsieur  le  Capitaine." 

"  Certainly,  I  should  run  no  risk  of  beintr  rid  of  him 
either  by  hanging  or  transportation,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  he  would  be  good — he  would  not  interfere ;  he  go 
his  way,  yoa  go  yours, — that  would  be  his  motto.  I  could 
do  very  well  with  Monsieur  le  Capitaine." 

"  But  you  don't  mean — you  can't, — you  would  not  for 
the  world  have  married  him  !  "  exclaimed  Helen. 

"  He  never  asked  me,"  was  Madame  Reinhard's  reply. 

"  But  love,  congeniality  !  "  exclaimed  Helen.  "  I  don't 
understand  you, — I  can't  in  the  least  comprehend !  " 

"  How  should  you,  mon  amie  ?  we  talk  of  different 
things.  You  look  for  that  which  is  to  be  found  once,  twice, 
possibly  three  times,  in  the  history  of  a  hundred  years.  I 
grant  you  to  be  very  happy,  very  blessed,  if  you  do  find  it ; 
but  if  you  don'r," — and  Madame  Reinhard  shrugged  her 
shoulders, — "  what  can  you  do  but  do  without  it  ?  " 

"  And  live  and  die  an  old  maid,"  said  Helen,  with  an 
accent  of  quiet  despair. 

"  Meine  liebe,  pity  forbid  !  why  do  you  speak  of  it  ? 
No  :  anion  of  heart,  sympathy  of  soul,  may  perhaps  be  found 
in  a  husband,  though  L  look  round  the  world  and  see  very 
few  who  have  found  it,  and  those  always  content  with  less 
far  than  you  or  I  would  ask.  But  it  can  never  be  that  we 
are  shut  out  from  it,  though  it  may  not  be  met  with  in  him. 
Give  me  but  freedom  of  action,  and  I  will  seek  till  I  meet 
with  it  somewhere.  Is  it  nut  my  own  case,  Helen  ?  "  ami 
Madame  Reinhard's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  sadness. 
"  My  home  ! — what  is  it  to  me?  hut  my  friends  ! — do  I  not 
live  in  them — live  by  them?  ai^  they  not  my  happiness? 
There  is  no  sorrow  for  me,  Uebc,  whilst  vou  and  I  can 

thus  meet  and  be  one." 


88  ivors. 

Helen  fondly  pressed  the  hand  that  was  extended  to  her, 
hut  answered  somewhat  ironically  :  "  And  you  think  Captain 
Mordaunt  would  interfere  with  us  less  than  mamma  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  But  I  don't  speak  of  him,  le  pauvre 
homrne.  I  would  not  mean  any  one  in  particular.  Though 
he  would  be  kind,  good-humoured,  and  he  would  have  means, 
— he  would  place  the  world  at  your  feet."  Helen  shrank 
from  the  suggestion.  Madame  Reinhard  added,  laughingly, 
"  You  think  that  nothing,  mon  amic  ;  but  remember  money 
is  freedom's  key,  and  freedom  gives  us  the  power  of  entrance 
into  the  spiritual  world." 

"  I  can't  bear  it,  I  must  not  hear  of  it !  "  exclaimed  Helen  : 
she  rose  up  suddenly,  and  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow, 
longing,  so  it  seemed,  to  clear  away  some  weight  which  pressed 
upou  it.  "  Gretchen,"  aud  she  turned  almost  fiercely  to  her 
friend,  "  you  tempt  me." 

"  Tempt  you,  meineliebe/  no,"  replied  Madame  Reinhard, 
in  a  sweet  indifferent  tone,  as  though  the  subject  had  scarcely 
rested  for  a  moment  in  her  mind.  "  Friends  cannot  tempt 
one  another  in  these  matters,  they  can  but  tell  of  their  own 
experience.  I  said  but  what  came  into  my  head,  brought 
there  by  the  sight  of  Miladi  Augusta's  face  when  she  met  me 
in  the  passage.  She  will  not  let  us  long  be  together,  mein 
Kind:' 

"  Was  she  alone  ?  "  asked  Helen,  cpuickly. 

"  No,  there  was  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  waiting,  despair 
ing  to  see  you,  I  suppose." 

"  Not  to  see  me  !  he  is  quite  aware  that  I  have  nothing 
to  say  to  him,"  exclaimed  Helen. 

Madame  Reiuhard  made  no  direct  reply,  she  only  said  : 
"  Miladi  Augusta  looked  thunder  :  I  could  almost  have  sup- 
posed she  knew  my  wish.    I  would  carry  you  off,  mon  amie." 

"  For  a  drive  ?     I  am  engaged  to  go  out  with  mamma." 

"  But  you  drive  with  her  every  day,  and  I  would  take 
you  where  you  would  like  to  go." 


Ivors.  89 

"  And  you  really  thought  mamma  would  say  yes?"  asked 
Helen. 

"  I  thought  I  would  beg.  Miladi  Augusta  cannot  be  so 
very  hard,  when  she  has  you  all  day." 

"  Try,"  said  Helen,  bitterly. 

"  She  cannot  make  you  such  a  slave.     Only  a  drive  !  " 

"  Try,"  repeated  Helen. 

To  her  surprise,  Madame  Reinhard  rose  from  her  seat, 
and  said,  playfully  :  "  I  go,  and  I  return  conqueror ;  "  and 
she  left  the  room. 

Helen  sat  in  the  same  position,  dreaming  sadly :  a  weight 
was  upon  her,  a  sense  of  entanglement  oppressed  her,  but  she 
did  not  feel  that  she  had  sufficient  energy  to  shake  it  off. 
She  was  sure  that  Madame  Reinhard  had  some  meaning  in 
her  proposal,  but  she  could  not  trouble  herself  to  inquire 
what  it  might  be.  After  a  few  moments  the  door  opened, 
and  Madame  Reinhard  appeared  again,  accompanied  by  Lady 
Augusta  and  Captain  Mordaunt.  The  expression  of  her  face 
was  peculiar, — the  mouth  was  grave,  the  eyes  laughed.  She 
left  it  to  Lady  Augusta  to  speak. 

u.  Helen,  Madame  Reinhard  tells  me  that  you  have  a 
headache,  and  that  a  drive  in  her  open  carriage  will  be 
pleasanter  than  going  out  with  me  in  a  close  one." 

Helen  was  about  to  deny  the  headache,  but  Madame 
Reinhard  interrupted  her,  just  as  she  was  beginning  to  an- 
swer. '"  We  will  have  no  excuses,  mon  amie.  You  are  very 
pale,  we  think  ho,  all;  the  drive  will  be  very  good,  and  Mon- 
sieur le  Capitaine,  he  also  goes  for  a  ride  in  the  park  at  this 
hour,  and  that  will  be  our  pleasant  escort." 

"  Then  you  had  better  go  at  once,"  continued  Lady 
Augusta;  "  I  wish  you  to  be  at  home  in  good  time.  We 
shall  see  you  at  dinner/'  the  added,  addressing  Captain  Mor- 
daunt. 

The   unmeaning  face,    half-hidden   by   whiskers   and  a 
18 


90  IVORS. 

moustache,  was  brightened  by  a  smile,  as  Captain  Mordaunt 
expressed  himself  proud  to  accept  the  invitation  ;  and  Helen, 
not  being  able  to  object  to  the  arrangement  without  positive 
incivility,  went  to  prepare  for  her  drive. 

By  what  means  Madame  Reinhard  had  contrived  to  gain 
that  one  victory,  she  did  not  choose  to  confess  to  Helen; 
but  it  was  followed  by  several  others,  all  of  the  same  kind. 
One  day  it  might  be  a  visit  to  a  picture  gallery,  another  day 
to  a  panorama,  or  an  exhibition  of  curiosities;  the  object 
seemed  to  be  of  little  consequence  to  Lady  Augusta,  as  long 
as  Madame  Reinhard  and  Helen  were  not  closeted  together, 
but  allowed  Captain  Mordaunt  to  attend  upon  them.  Yet 
she  never  mentioned  his  name  to  Helen  in  private,  neither 
did  Madame  Reinhard.  His  coming  or  going  appeared  to 
be  a  matter  of  equal  indifference  to  both,  whilst  Helen  treat- 
ed him  with  a  coldness,  which  she  believed  was  a  sufficient 
indication  of  her  sentiments  to  prevent  his  being  deceived. 
Only  now  and  then  Madame  Eeinhard,  by  some  seemingly 
accidental  observation,  drew  Helen's  attention  to  the  fact, 
that  she  was  more  free  with  Captain  Mordaunt  than  without 
him.  He  was  undoubtedly  very  good-natured,  and  had  not 
mind  enough  to  interfere  with  the  mind  of  others ;  and  Helen 
and  her  friend  were  able  to  carry  on  in  his  presence  conver- 
sation which  would  have  been  tabooed  by  Lady  Augusta  as 
dangerously  liberal.  Being  certain  that  she  did  not  care  for 
him,  and  that  he  was  aware  of  the  fact,  Helen  by  degrees 
was  becoming  accustomed  to  him.  The  "  cousinship  "  and 
the  long  acquaintance  were  an  excuse  for  a  certain  amount 
of  convenient  familiarity,  cleverly  fostered  by  Madame  Rein- 
hard,  who  took  every  opportunity  of  making  him  useful. 

Helen  was  very  blind  to  what  was  going  on.  Her 
thoughts  were  often  preoccupied,  and  the  very  knowledge 
that  Lady  Augusta  wished  her  to  encourage  Captain  Mor- 
daunt, made  it  appear  impossible  that  Madame  Reinhard,  even 


IYOKS.  01 

if  she  were  capable  of  manoeuvring,  could  Lave  the  same  ob- 
ject iu  view. 

But,  for  once,  the  clever,  liberal,  sophistical  Madame 
Reinhard,  and  the  stern,  prejudiced,  but  equally  worldly- 
minded  Lady  Augusta  Clare,  were  agreed. 

Madame  Reinhard's  position  in  the  society  to  which  she 
had  been  admitted,  was  a  doubtful  onr.  She  had  entered 
it,  as  it  were,  by  stealth,  introduced  by  Miss  Manners,  and 
a  few  other  would-be  literary  people,  who  were  fascinated 
by  her  quickness  of  intellect,  and  amused  by  the  freedom 
and  originality  of  her  foreign  manners  and  habits  of  thought. 
But  she  stood  by  herself;  her  husband's  tastes  were  different 
from  her  own ;  his  friends  were  regarded  with  suspicion ; 
and  he  had  neither  rank  nor  fortune  sufficient  to  set  the 
opinion  of  the  world  at  defiance.  Many  persons  declined 
an  intimacy  with  Madame  Reinhard,  because  they  did  not 
eboose  to  become  acquainted  with  her  husband;  others,  like 
Lady  Augusta,  admitted  her  to  their  society  for  a  time,  and 
then  were  inclined  to  draw  back.  She  could  only  be  certain 
of  those  who  were  exclusively  devoted  to  the  worship  of  tal- 
ent, and  were  content  to  set  aside  every  prejudice,  or  even 
principle,  for  the  sake  of  its  enjoyment.  And  this  did  not 
satisfy  her.  Professing  the  most  exalted  theories  of  un- 
worldlincss  and  contempt  for  conventionalisms,  Madame 
Reinhard  was,  in  truth,  the  slave  of  admiration  and  the  devo- 
tee of  fashion.  To  be  first,  wherever  she  might  be,  was  an 
absolute  essential  to  her  happiness.  To  be  excluded  from 
any  society  was  a  sufficient  motive  to  induce  her  to  force  her 
way  into  it  at  all  hazards.  Intercourse  with  literary  people 
sufficed  as  long  as  it  was  but  a  stepping-stone  to  something 
beyond;  but  when  once  she  had  discovered  that  there  was 
an  inner  circle,  into  which  she  had  not  the  power  of  entrance, 
her  vain  and  restless  spirit  wearied  itself  iu  endeavours  to 
break  through  the  magic  barrier. 


92  ivors. 

And  Helen  might  assist  her — Helen,  with  beauty,  grace, 
talent,  and  fortune, — as  the  wife  of  a  man  who  must,  before 
very  long,  inherit  an  earldom,  would  have  it  in  her  power, 
and  certainly  in  her  will,  to  give  Madame  Reinhard,  or  any 
person  whom  she  chose  to  acknowledge  as  her  friend,  admis- 
sion to  the  society  in  which  she  herself  was  privileged  to 
move.  For  Madame  Reinhard  never  distrusted  Helen. 
There  is  something  in  truth  of  character  which  even  the 
untrue  cannot  but  feel.  Helen  might  be  raised  to  a  throne, 
and  Madame  Reinhard  knew  that  it  would  make  no  diffe- 
rence in  her  affection.  If  they  were  friends  now,  when 
Helen  was  a  young  girl,  kept  under  subjection  in  her  father's 
house,  still  more  would  they  be  friends,  when  Helen  should 
have  rank  .and  wealth,  and  freedom,  and  be  able  to  share 
them  with  whomsoever  she  would.  Her  house  would  be 
Madame  Reinhard's  house ;  her  friends  Madame  Reinhard's 
friends ;  and  her  husband — that  was  but  a  secondary  consid- 
eration; yet  much  better,  surely,  was  it  for  Madame  Rein- 
hard's views,  that  he  should  be  a  puppet  in  her  hands,  than 
a  man  of  strong,  independent  character,  bent  upon  subject- 
ing his  wife  to  his  will. 

Better  Captain  Mordaunt  than  Claude  Egerton.  That 
was  a  danger  which  Madame  Reinhard's  penetration  had 
discovered  at  one  glance.  Past  it  might  be — there  was 
something  in  Helen's  manner,  reserved  though  she  had  been, 
which  made  it  probable — but  not  so  past  as  that  its  influence 
was  gone.  And  Madame  Reinhard  smiled  in  scorn,  as  she 
dwelt  upon  the  obstacles  which  had  arisen  in  her  path,  and 
in  her  secret  heart  vowed  that  Helen  Clare  should,  before 
another  month  was  over,  consent  to  be  the  future  Countess 
of  Harford. 


ivoks.  93 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

"  Well,  Claude,  my  good  fellow  !  glad  to  see  you ! "  was 
the  Admiral's  greeting,  as  Claude  sat  down  by  the  gouty 
chair,  and  began  to  inquire  after  bis  health.  The  Admiral's 
weather-beaten  face  was  looking  pale  and  deeply  wrinkled 
that  morning;  his  eyes  bad  lost  their  brightness,  and  the 
tone  of  his  voice  was  hollow,  though  its  accent  was  cheeiful. 
He  did  not  seem  inclined,  as  usual,  to  dilate  upon  his  many 
maladies;  rather  he  turned  with  an  interest,  which  had 
somewhat  of  anxiety  mingled  with  it,  to  Claude's  account  of 
his  own  doings.  "  And  so  you  have  been  down  at  Helmsley 
for  a  day  or  two,  seeing  after  your  people  ?  how  did  you 
make  your  business  with  the  House  suit  with  that?" 

"  I  managed  to  pair  off,"  was  Claude's  reply.  "  There 
was  nothing  very  important  coming  on,  and  I  wanted  to  get 
away  very  much,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  Hard  work  for  j-ou,  my  boy ;  late  hours  !  they  don't 
suit,  I'm  afraid.  You  must  n't  wear  yourself  out  before 
your  time." 

"  No  great  matter,  dear  sir,  if  I  do.  There  won't  be  too 
many  tears  shed  for  me." 

"Nonsense,  Claude!"  and  the  Admiral  roused  himself 
to  energy.  "  I  won't  have  any  such  folly.  No  tears  shed 
for  you  !  Why,  if  a  man  feels  that  he  is  worth  enough  to 
make  him  shed  tears  for  himself,  there  is  reason  sufficient  to 
prevent  his  throwing  away  his  life.  I  shall  think  you  are 
but  a  woman,  after  all,  with  such  nniiscii.se." 

"  Bttt  you  must  alhnv,"  said  Claude,  "  that  the  consider- 
ation will  have  sonic  influence.  One  can  imagine  fathers 
ami  mothers,  for  instance,  only  wishing  for  life,  because  of 
the  loss  their  death  will  be  to  their  children.'5 


94  ivors. 

"  Well,  then,  marry,  and  be  a  father  yourself,  and  then 
yon  will  have  something  to  live  for." 

Every  muscle  in  Claude's  face  was  rigidly  strained, 
whilst  the  Admiral's  eye  was  fixed  upon  him.  Very  slowly, 
but  with  perfect  calmness,  he  answered :  "  I  have  no  wish 
to  marry  at  present." 

.The  Admiral's  first  movement  showed  irritation;  the 
next  instant  he  laid  his  rough  hand  upon  Claude's,  and  said, 
"  My  poor  boy  !  "  and  tears  stood  in  his  failing  eyes.  After 
a  momentary  pause,  he  added,  impatiently,  "  You  should  n't 
be  in  London  to  come  across  that  girl." 

It  required  a  great,  great  effort  to  speak,  but  Claude  made 
it.  He  said  firmly,  "  I  feel  that  it  is  best  we  should  meet, 
sir,  and  I  am  very  thankful  that  we  have  done  so.  It  will 
be  much  less  painful  the  second  time." 

"  To  you,  perhaps  ;  as  for  her.  she  does  n't  care  enough 
to  feel  more  or  less  pain." 

"  I  cannot  flatter  myself  she  does,"  replied  Claude;  "  and 
in  a  certain  way  that  fact  makes  my  task  more  easy." 

"  What  task  ?  you  have  done  with  her  ?  you  have  had 
enough  of  her  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Admiral. 

Claude's  answer  was  a  faint  attempt  at  a  smile. 

The  Admiral  became  suddenly  grave.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Claude,  my  boy,"  he  said  ;  "  there  's  no  cure  for  all 
this  but  marriage — marriage  for  you  and  marriage  for  her; 
and  take  my  word  for  it,  she  '11  be  the  first  to  set  you  the 
example.  Even  now,  I  know  from  very  good  authority,  that 
she's  on  the  high  road  to  it;  and  when  she  has  thrown  her- 
self away  upon  that  jackanape  cousin  of  hers,  for  the  sake 
of  being  one  day  a  countess,  then  I  suppose  there  '11  be  some 
chance  of  your  friends  seeing  you  a  happy,  domestic  man.' 

"Miss  Clare  is  engaged  then   to  Captain  Mordauut?' 
began  Claude,  coldly. 

"Miss  Clare  !  don't  talk  of  Miss  Clare  to  me!"  inter 


> 


ivors.  95 

rupted  the  Admiral;  "  Helen  is  the  only  name  I  know  her 
by  now ;  fair  and  false  as  her  namesake.  As  to  her  being 
engaged  or  not,  I  won't  venture  to  say;  you  know  well 
enough,  engagements  are  not  matters  of  much  consequence 
to  her.  But  any  how,  she's  flirting  with  him  till  she's  the 
talk  of  London.  You  see,  Claude,  though  I  do  sit  in  my 
gouty  chair,  with  my  back  to  the  light,  I  can  tell  how  the 
world  goes.  What's  the  matter?  what  are  you  after?"  he 
added,  as  Claude  rose  up  and  stood  fronting  the  fire-place. 

Claiule  turned  round  directly.  "  Very  likely  the  report 
is  true,  sir.  In  a  worldly  point  of  view  it  will  be  a  very 
good  connection." 

"  And  you  won't  fret  your  life  out  about  it?  " 

"  I  wish  she  may  be  happy,  sir  :  you  will  allow  me  that 
wish." 

"  And  I  wish  you  may  be  happy,  my  dear  boy.  There, 
come  and  sit  down  by  me  :  don't  mind ;  though  you  may  be 
a  man  to  others,  you  are  a  boy  to  me — my  boy,  and  its  nat- 
ural enough  for  me  to  think  as  I  do.  Time  goes  on,  and 
health  and  strength  go  with  it,  and  before  long  I  sh'a'nt  be 
able  to  say  what  I  would.  God  knows,  Claude,  how  fathers 
love  their  children.  'T  was  His  will  to  shut  up  that  joy  from 
me;  yet  He  has  given  me  a  taste  of  it  too.  There  are  few 
fathers  who  would  do  more  for  their  sons  than  I  would  for 
you ;  and  when  I  think  of  lying  down  in  my  grave,  the  weight 
which  lies  heaviest  on  my  heart  is  the  thought  that  you  may 
go  through  life  as  I  have  gone  through  it  myself." 

Claude  looked  surprised,  but  before  he  could  speak  the 
Admiral  continued  :  "  I  know  what  you  would  say.  I  've 
b  i.ii  a  fortunate  man,  a  prosperous,  an  honoured  man.  No 
one,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  will  say  an  ill  word  of  me  after 
my  death,  and  many  have  said  good  words  of  nic  during  my 
lit'.'.  God  be  thanked  for  both.  But,  (Maude,  1  haven't 
been  a  happy  man.     There's  been  a  want.      Look!  "  and  he 


06  IVOKS. 

drew  forth  a  small  locket  attached  to  a  hair  chain  ; — "  would 
you  think  now  that  an  old  fellow,  verging  towards  eighty, 
would  be  such  a  fool  ?  that  he  would  care  still  for  that 
which  is  now  only  a  remembrance  of  one  who  is  an  angel  in 
Paradise;  and  who  didn't  love  him — Claude,  didn't  love 
him,"  he  repeated,  with  an  accent  of  mournful  bitterness. 
"  Ah  !  we  are  all  more  weak  than  we  choose  to  own  ;  and 
seventy  years  of  this  world's  storms  have  n't  sufficed  to  make 
me  look  upon  that  trinket  as  what  it  is  ;  a  bit  of  childish 
memory ;  a  love-token  from  a  little  one  who  did  n't  know 
what  love  meant.  How  other  men  manage  I  can't  say,  it's 
seen  a  problem  many  a  time  ;  perchance,  they  don't  feel  as 
I  felt ;  but  one  thing  I  have  learnt,  Claude,  from  my  own 
experience,  and  it's  the  legacy  of  advice  I'd  fain  give  to  you. 
Don't  cherish  your  sorrow :  when  God  breaks  our  idols  in 
pieces,  it  is  n't  for  us  to  put  the  broken  bits  together  again. 
I  did  it.  For  years  I  nursed  my  grief,  and  wouldn't  part 
from  it,  and  when  I  would  fain  have  rid  myself  of  it,  it  was 
too  late.  I  had  grown  suspicious,  and  felt  myself  disagree- 
able, and  thought  that  no  woman  could  ever  be  brought  to 
care  for  me,  and  so  I  never  could  bring  myself  to  ask  her  if 
she  would  try ;  and  then  I  became  what  I  am  now ;  an  old 
bachelor,  a  weariness  and  a  trouble." 

Claude  interrupted  him  :  "  Never,  sir,  never ;  think  of 
Mrs.  Graham,  of  her  children;  think  of  me.  Is  there  any- 
thing a  son  would  do  for  a  father  which  I  would  not  do  for 
you  ?  " 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand  upon  Claude's  head :  "  God 
bless  you,  my  boy,  for  being  a  blessing  to  me.  Yes,  He  has 
been  very  merciful ;  but  it  is  written, — many  and  many  a 
time  have  the  words  come  to  me  almost  as  a  reproach, — '  It 
is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.'  And  it  is  true,  Claude  : 
women  are  not  alone  like  men,  when  they  have  reached  old- 
age  without  being  married.     Their  hearts  are  softer,  they 


ivoes.  97 

form  more  ties ;  they  have  more  loving  ways.  All  their 
lives  through,  for  the  most  part,  they  have  lived  in  families, 
and  so  the  families  cling  to  them,  and  become  theirs.  But 
men  are  very  solitary,  Claude  ;  for  the  greater  part  of  their 
life  society  shuts  them  in  as  by  walls  :  they  have  no  choice ; 
their  friends  must  be  men ;  and  one  man  may  have  a  great 
regard  for  another,  they  may  be  very  dear  friends,  but  there's 
seldom  anything  softening,  there's  not  enough  tenderness  in 
the  love ;  and  a  man  wants  that  even  for  his  good.  The  na- 
ture is  hard,  and  the  world  makes  it  harder,  and  if  there's  no 
woman's  influence  to  melt  it,  ten  to  one  but  he  lives  for  him- 
self, and  his  selfish  needs,  and  so  the  good  that  is  in  him 
never  puts  itself  forth.  I  should  have  been  a  better  man, 
Claude,  if  I  had  married  :  married,  that  is,  well  and  wisely." 

"  Yes,  if  one  could  marry  well  and  wisely,"  exclaimed 
Claude,  hastily. 

"  To  be  sure ;  that's  the  point.  Better  go  down  to  your 
grave  lonely,  than  with  a  trouble  which  will  eat  into  your 
vitals;  and  there's  none  will  do  that  sooner  than  a  senseless 
wife.  But  the  fault  is,  Claude,  in  thinking  that  because  you 
can't  have  the  first  thing  you  wish  for,  you  won't  do  very 
well  with  the  second." 

"  The  loss  of  the  first  may  destroy  all  inclination  for  the 
second,"  said  Claude. 

"  A  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire,  eh  ?  But  you  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  that  there  are  n't  fifty, — a  hundred  women, 
better  worth  having  in  the  world  than  that  butterfly  girl, 
Helen  Clare  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  sir  ;  not  the  least,  as  far  as  the 
taste  of  other  men  is  concerned,  or  even  according  to  my 
own  judgment." 

"But  you  don't  choose  to  seek  them  out,"  said  the  A.d- 
miral,  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  Once  deceived,  deceived  forever,"  said  (Maude,  sternly. 


98  ivoes. 

A  gleam  of  quick  intelligence  brightened  the  Admiral's 
eyes.  "  Ah !  my  boy !  I  understand.  That's  the  harm. 
It's  what  we  all  do  to  each  other,  more  or  less.  No  one  of 
us  can  fall  from  a  pinnacle  without  shaking  those  who  stand 
on  the  pinnacles  round  us.  But  perchance,  Claude,  there 
may  be  some  placed  on  pinnacles  who  had  no  right  to  be 
there ;  and  the  fault  then  may  be  with  those  who  put  them 
there." 

"  Very  likely,  sir,  very  likely,"  said  Claude,  in  a  tone  of 
impatience,  which  showed  how  distasteful  the  subject  was  to 
him.     But  the  Admiral  would  not  let  him  escape. 

"  You  must  bear  with  me,  my  dear  boy ;  you  must  let 
me  say  my  say.  There  may  n't  be  so  many  opportunities 
left;  and  I  have  it  at  heart,  Claude.  It's  a  yearning  I  have 
to  see  you  married." 

"Indeed!"  said  Claude,  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  you  may  n't  think  it ;  but  if  it  had  been  that  you 
had  married  Helen  Clare,  I  believe  I  should  have  been  bet- 
ter pleased  than  to  see  you  as  you  are.  You  are  n't  made 
for  the  life." 

"  I  shall  become  used  to  it,  no  doubt,"  said  Claude. 

"  Use !  It's  nature,  not  use,  that  makes  a  man  fit  to  be 
an  old  bachelor.  There  are  men  made  for  it,  with  large 
hearts  but  cold  temperaments;  who  love  widely,  but  not 
deeply ;  who  have  their  work  put  before  them  when  they  en- 
ter life,  and  who  can  throw  themselves  into  it,  and  make  it 
their  object.  We  must  all  marry  something,  Claude,  or  we 
could  n't  live  :  and  some  marry  principles,  and  some  duties, 
and  some  fame,  and  not  a  few  marry  themselves.  But  it's 
not  in  you,  by  nature,  to  do  either ;  and  if  you  don't  find  a 
wife  to  your  taste,  and  that  before  long,  the  want  will  canker 
and  eat  out  all  the  soft  parts  of  your  nature." 

"  That  has  not  been  your  case,  sir,"  said  Claude. 

Perhaps  not  entirely.     But  yours  would  be  worse  than 


ivors.  99 

mine.  We  are  not  alike.  You  are  shut  up.  I  open  to 
everybody,  and  so  everybody  opens  to  me.  If  you  don't  take 
care,  Claude,  you'll  begin  by  acting  coldness,  and  you'll  end 
by  feeling  it.  That's  a  danger  which  young  people  don't 
think  of;  but  it's  a  true  one." 

Claude  was  silent  and  thoughtful :  then,  as  with  a  sudden 
recollection  of  duty,  he  turned  to  the  Admiral,  and  said, 
'•  You  are  right,  sir,  I  know.  If  I  can't  talk  about  it,  I 
feel  it," 

"  Afft,  man,  act !  I  would  n't  give  a  farthing  for  feeling 
without  action." 

Claude  smiled  faintly. 

The  Admiral  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  looking  very  tired. 
He  sighed ;  and  Claude  stood  up  to  go,  and  yet  lingered. 

"  Shall  I  ask  Mrs.  Graham  to  come  to  you,  sir  ? "  he 
said. 

'.'  She's  out,"  was  the  Admiral's  short  reply.  <:  Pour  out 
my  medicine,  Claude ;  it's  time  I  should  take  it." 

"  Is  Miss  Graham  at  home  ?  "  inquired  Claude,  as  he  put 
the  glass  into  the  Admiral's  hand. 

The  glass  was  rested  upon  the  table,  and  the  old  man's 
e}-e  sparkled.  "  You'll  find  her  in  the  drawing-room,  she 
had  been  reading  to  me  before  you  came ;  the  other  girls 
went  with  their  mother." 

"  I  shall  only  disturb  her,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Claude, 
coldly. 

The  Admiral  drank  off  his  nauseous  draught,  and  an- 
swered quickly,  "Not  a  bit,  man.  Faugh!  where  are  the 
bis<  nits?  one  -would  think  it  was  ink.  Not  a  bit  likely  to 
disturb  her,  if  you've  anything  to  say." 

"  Only  a  question  to  ask,"  said  Claude,  doubtfully. 

"  She'll  answer  it :  she's  always  ready,  lling  the  bell 
for  Barnes  ;   he  must  rub  my  foot." 

Barnes  came.  *  Miss  Graham  in  the  drawing-room, 
Barnes  ? " 


100  IVORS. 

"  I  believe  so,  sir." 

"  Right ;  I  told  you  so."  The  Admiral  addressed  Claude; 
"  She'll  come  here,  if  you  like  it  best." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  thank  you  !  I  -would  not  on  any  account 
give  her  the  trouble.  I  merely  wanted  to  ask  for  the  address 
of  a  German  lady  she  knows  slightly." 

"  She'll  give  it  you.  She's  sure  to  do  it.  Better  go  and 
ask  her."  And  Claude  assented,  though  rather  as  if  he  were 
speaking  in  a  dream.  And  the  Admiral,  in  spite  of  his  wea- 
riness, smiled,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  muttered  to 
himself,  "  I  will  do  it,  after  all." 


CHAPTER  LV. 

"  Affairs  seem  making  progress,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mis3 
Manners,  as  she  entered  Lady  Augusta's  boudoir ;  having 
just  seen  Helen  set  off  for  her  ride  in  the  park  with  her 
father  and,  as  a  necessary  attendant,  Captain  Mordaunt. 

Lady  Augusta  continued  to  work  at  her  carpet  with  an 
air  of  severe  industry.  "  I  leave  all  these  things,  Julia,  my 
love.  Helen  will  take  her  own  way.  I  don't  think  of 
them." 

"But  your  heart  must  be  deeply  interested  in  them," 
continued  Miss  Manners.  "  It  is  impossible  to  watch  the 
course  of  a  devoted  attachment  without  being  so." 

"  My  heart,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  is  not  deeply  interested 
in  any  worldly  events,  Julia,"  replied  Lady  Augusta.  "  Look 
at  this  lily,  my  love.  Do  you  think  the  shades  are  exact  ? 
I  have  been  examining  them  for  the  last  ten  minutes  minutely, 
and  can't  yet  make  up  my  mind.  It  would  be  sadly  disap- 
pointing to  find  they  are  wrong;  and  I  have  no  time  left  to 


IVORS. 


101 


alter ;  the  work  must  be  finished  by  the  eighteenth,  or  it 
won't  be  ready  for  the  consecration." 

Miss  Manners  brought  her  near-sighted  eyes  close  to  the 
delicate  work,  looked  at  it  in  every  direction,  and  decided 
that  she  could  not  tell.  She  thought  it  possible  there  was  a 
difference,  but  she  was  not  sure;  she  hoped  not,  but  then  she 
was  afraid  ;  in  fact,  she  was  no  judge. 

Lady  Augusta  rang  the  bell.  "  Excuse  me,  Julia,  but  I 
must  have  the  point  determined,  everything  depends  on  it." 
And  sea'ting  herself  at  her  writing  desk,  she  wrote  a  note  to 
be  taken  with  the  work  to  the  Berlin  warehouse,  where  the 
experienced  sorter  and  arranger  of  wools  was  to  decide  the 
question.  Then  she  turned  to  Miss  Manners  wiih  a  relieved 
countenance. 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  my  love ;  you  don't  enter  into 
these  things  ;  "  and  a  sigh  followed  the  words.  "  But  you 
were  speaking  of  Helen  !  did  you  meet  her  ?  " 

"Looking  lovely,"  replied  Miss  Manners;  "and  with 
spirits  so  brilliant,  so  exuberant ;  certainly  there  is  nothing 
like  the  first  freshness  of  youthful  animation." 

"  No,"  replied  Lady  Augusta,  solemnly ;  "  it  is,  indeed,  a 
great  snare.  I  find  Helen  becoming  more  and  more  worldly, 
Julia.  She  refuses  to  go  with  me  to  the  consecration  next 
■week,  av.d  I  shall  be  obliged  to  have  recourse,  as  usual,  to 
her  father's  authority.  I  should  have  thought  that,  after  the 
example  I  have  set,  the  advice  I  have  given,  her  eyes  would 
have  been  opened,  but  she  13  wilfully  blind." 

"  The  sympathies  of  married  life  will  probably  do  much 
for  her,"  replied  Miss  Manners;  "I  have  seen  many  girls 
change  in  a  wonderful  way,  when  they  have  found  a  heart  to 
respond  to  their  own.  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  and  I  have  been 
discoursing  upon  this  subject  for  nearly  an  hour  this  morn- 
ing.     Of  course  you  know  her  happiness?  " 

"  Louisa  Stuart  !  happiness  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Augusta, 


102  IVORS. 

quite  forgettiog  in  excitement  her  measured  solemnity  of 
manner :  "  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Julia,  that  she  is  going  to 
be  married  ;  why,  she  is  nearly  fifty." 

"  She  has  found  a  heart  to  beat  in  unison  with  her  own," 
replied  Miss  Manners.  "  True, — it  has  known  less  of  the 
world's  troubles  by  twenty  years  ;  but  what  is  time  when  feel- 
ings are  young  ?  Lady  Louisa  was  sweetly  confidential  with 
me  on  the  occasion,  and  talked  much  of  you  and  of  dear 
Helen,  regretting  that  she  had  formerly  thrown  away  a  chance 
of  happiness,  and  wishing  that  she  could  share  her  joy." 

Lady  Augusta's  foot  patted  the  floor,  as  in  a  very  gruff 
tone  she  inquired  who  the  man  was. 

"  He  is  foreign,  my  love, — Polish, — a  Polish  count, — an 
exile — most  intellectual, — beautifully  refined, — sensitive, — so 
Lady  Louisa  tells  me, — -to  the  most  extreme  degree.  I  be- 
lieve she  met  him  at  a  soiree  given  by  Madame  Eeinhard." 

Lady  Augusta  nearly  started  from  her  seat.  "  Madame 
Eeinhard  !  that  woman  is  at  the  bottom  of  half  the  mischief 
in  England.  It  is  an  absurdity,  Julia.  A  Polish  exile ! 
Louisa  Stuart  throw  herself  away  upon  a  refugee  !  It  is 
monstrous;  not  to  be  believed." 

"  Kay,  my  dear  friend ;  quite  true,"  replied  Miss  Man- 
ners, drawing  herself  up  with  dignity ;  "  and,  however  you 
may  think  fit  to  condemn  Madame  Reinhard,  you  must  ac- 
knowledge that  her  society  is  sought  by  the  most  enlarged 
and  cultivated  minds  in  London." 

"  I  care  not  a  whit  for  their  cultivation,"  exclaimed  Ladv 
Augusta.  "  Ydu  frighten  me,  Julia  ;  you  have  lost  all  com- 
mon sense.  This  German  woman  has  bewitched  you. 
Louisa  !  my  cousin  !  my  first  cousin  !  so  very  intimate  as  we 
have  been  !  She  will  be  the  laughing-stock  of  London.  I 
can't  imagine,  Julia,  why  you  don't  see  the  excessive  impro- 
priety of  the  whole  thing." 

"  Lady  Louisa  judges  for  herself,  my  dear,"  said  Miss 
Manners. 


IVOKS.  103 

"  And  Helen  will  some  clay,  I  suppose,  judge  for  herself," 
continued  Lady  Augusta,  "  adopting  as  she  does  Madame 
Beiuhard's  tone ;  we  shall  have  her  following  the  example, 
and  uniting  herself  to  a  Polish  infant  in  long  clothes.  But 
.it  must  be  ended ;  I  won't  bear  it.  Helen  shall  not  keep 
me  any  longer  in  such  torturing  suspense." 

"I  don't  understand,  my  dear,"  began  Miss  Manners; 
"  it  is  difficult  to  understand  the  connection  of  ideas." 

"  Of  course  not,  of  course  not,"  exclaimed  Lady  Augusta. 
"  Forgive  me,  my  love.  I  am  chafed,  fretted."  She  took 
out  her  watch.  "  Four  o'clock  !  I  have  shopping  to  do  ;  but 
I  shall  leave  it.  I  shall  go  into  the  park,  then  to  church. 
I  require  soothing.  These  worldly  anxieties  are  too  much 
for  me." 

The  bell  was  rung  again.  "  Order  the  carriage  directly. 
If  Captain  Mordauut  calls,  tell  him  we  expect  him  at  dinner. 
And  John  " — as  the  servant  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  he 
was  recalled, — "  when  my  parcel  is  brought  back  from  the 
Berlin  warehouse,  let  me  have  it  immediately,  without  delay. 
I  must  ease  my  mind  at  least  upon  that  point,"  murmured 
Lady  Augusta  to  herself,  as  she  stood  before  the  window  in 
a  moody  reverie. 

An  observation  made  in  a  very  reproachful  tone  disturbed 
her  :  '•  Really,  Augusta,  you  perplex  me  very  much  ;  these 
sudden  storms  of  feeling  are  what  I  am  not  prepared  for." 

Lady  Augusta  turned  round  slowly;  her  excitement  was 
quite  gone.  "  My  dear  Julia,"  she  said,  "  it  is  impossible 
that  you  should  be;  we  live  indifferent  atmospheres;  we 
breathe  a  different  air.  When  you  have  known  the  respon- 
sibility of  a  mother's  charge  you  will  comprehend,  not  till 
then.  But  don't  be  alarmed.  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  be 
overcome;  the  emotion  is  but  temporary.  I  doubt  not  that 
1  shall,  ere  long,  see  my  dear  Helen's  best  interests  provided 
for,  and   !»■   at   liberty  to  seek  repose.     Till  then,  my. lore. 


104  IVORS. 

think  of  me,  and  pray  for  me."  Lady  Augusta  pressed  her 
friend's  hand  tenderly,  and  left  her,  saying,  "  You  will  come 
to  us,  this  evening,  Julia  ;  "  an  invitation  which  was  declined 
with  all  due  protestations  of  lasting  aifection  and  sympathy. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

Lady  Augusta  changed  her  intention  before  she  reached 
the  Park.  The  order  was  given  to  drive  to  Cavendish  Square ; 
she  wished  to  call  on  Mrs.  Graham  and  Admiral  Clare, — 
the  last  wish  that  was  likely  to  arise  in  Lady  Augusta's 
mind,  except  from  some  feeling  of  necessity. 

"Is  your  master  able  to  see  me,  Barnes?"  was  her 
softly-uttered  inquiry,  as  Barnes  made  his  appearance  in  the 
hall. 

"  I  will  inquires  my  lady."  Barnes  knew  his  duty  too 
well  to  admit  Lady  Augusta  without  preparation.  Mrs. 
Graham  was  out.  Miss  Graham  at  home.  Lady  Augusta 
was  shown  into  the  drawing-room  ;  Susan  sat  there  alone ; 
work  was  in  her  hand,  but  her  fingers  were  not  moving.  A 
man's  glove  lay  on  the  table ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  it  so 
intensely,  and  her  thoughts  were  so  deeply  engaged,  that  she 
did  not  perceive  Lady  Augusta's  entrance. 

A  kiss  on  her  forehead  was  almost  the  first  intimation 
she  received  of  the  presence  of  her  visitor.  "  My  love,  it  is 
an  age  since  we  met.  How  are  you  ?  You  are  looking 
charmingly  well."  Susan  happened  to  be  very  pale  that  af- 
ternoon, but  lady  Augusta  knew  her  speech  by  heart,  and 
would  not  be  put  out  by  facts. 

"  How  is  Helen  ?  "  asked  Susan.  It  was  the  question 
which  from  childhood  she  had  invariably  asked  after  one  of 


IVORS.  105 

Lady  Augusta's  salutations.  It  seemed  the  shortest  way  of 
putting  an  end  to  them. 

"  Helen  is  tolerable,  my  love ;  she  is  gone  out  riding  with 
her  father  and  Captain  Morduant.  She  rides  nearly  every 
day  now.  I  wish  you  had  a  horse  and  could  ride  with  her ; 
it  would  be  such  a  delight." 

"  Helen  said  something  about  it  one  day,"  replied  Susan ; 
"  and  the  Admiral  was  very  kind,  and  told  her  he  would  hire 
a  horse  for  me,  if  I  liked ;  but  I  am  rather  afraid  of  riding 
horses  !•  don't  know,  in  London ;  and  there  are  so  many  other 
things  to  be  done." 

"  Yes ;  so  much  to  see  for  those  who  come  to  London 
but  seldom!  Your  dear  mamma  I  am  afraid  is  not  at 
home  ?  " 

"  She  went  out  with  Isabella   and  Anna,"  replied   Susan. 

"  They  were  to  go  to  the  Polytechnic,  I  think ;  Anna  had 
never  seen  it."' 

"  And  they  left  you  alone.  Too  bad  that  seems,  but  you 
have  such  resources.  I  often  wish  I  could  give  Helen  your 
habits  of  industry." 

"  She  does  not  need  them  in  the  same  way,"  replied 
Susan.      "  She  has  so  many  engagements." 

"Ah!  my  dear,  so  you  may  think;  but  engagements 
abroad  dtfnH  make  up  for  want  of  interest  at  home,  and  Helen 

is  sadly  wanting  in  interest;  she  has  been  so  ever  since 

that  was  a  very  unfortunate  business  of  poor  Claude's." 

Susan  could  scarcely  conceal  her  surprise.  This  was  the 
first  time  that  Lady  Augusta  had  ever  approached  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  But  I  hope  she  may  be  getting  over  it,"  continued  Lady 
Augusta!  "  At  her  age  it  is  not  possible  that  the  morbid 
feelings  in  which  she  indulged  at  first  should  last ;  and  so  I 
trust,  my  love,  we  may  yet  sec  her  happy.  Her  cousin,  Cap- 
tain Mordaunt,  is  devotedly  attached  to  her." 


106  IVORS. 

"  And  is  Helen  going  to  marry  him  ?  "  inquired  Susan 
hastily. 

"  My  dear,  you  ask  me  a  question  of  which  I  know  as 
little  as  yourself.  Helen  is  a  mystery  to  me.  She  shuts 
herself  up  from  me.  She  has  but  one  friend  now,  a  German 
lady;   I  think  you  have  seen  her — Madame  Reinkard." 

"  Yes,  I  know  Helen  is  very  fond  of  her,"  said  Susan. 

"  Quite  spell-bound,  my  love.  I  have  no  power  to  with- 
stand it.  And  it  pains  me — you  can  well  imagine — after  the 
very  careful  education  which  I  gave  to  my  dear  child,  that 
she  should  fix  her  affections  upon  a  stranger,  a  foreigner ;  it 
has  beon  a  great  grief  to  me,  Susan." 

"  Helen  once  told  me  that  Madame  Reinhard  was  such  a 
relief  in  the  solitude  of  the  country,  that  she  could  not  help 
being  fond  of  her,"  replied  Susan. 

Lady  Augusta's  countenance  was  clouded.  "  Helen  had 
no  right  to  say  that,  my  dear.  If  I  have  kept  her  from  ordi- 
nary country  society,  it  has  been  in  order  to  elevate  and  re- 
fine her  taste,  not  to  lower  it.  But  let  that  be  as  it  may, 
Helen  is  fast  getting  beyond  my  influence :  but  I  have  great 
confidence  in  you,  Susan." 

Susan  was  silent ;  she  did  not  comprehend. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Lady  Augusta ;  "  I  feel  that  it  is  in 
your  power  to  do  much  for  my  poor,  wilful  child ;  and  it  has 
been  a  subject  of  great  regret  that  from  circumstances  she 
has  been  thrown  so  little  with  you.  Since  dear  Claude's 
alienation,  Helen  has  had  no  true  friend.  Ah  !  he  would 
have  guided  her  so  well,  Susan." 

Lady  Augusta's  tone  had  a  reality  in  it  which  for  once 
quite  deceived  Susan,  and  she  answered  with  hearty  sympa- 
thy, that  they  had  all  felt  very  sorry  for  him  and  for  cveiy 
one. 

"  I  feel  assured  of  it,  my  love.  I  can  at  all  times  depend 
upon  your  entering  into  my  feelings,  and  I  think  now  I  may 
look  to  you  for  aid." 


IVOKS.  107 

Susans  countenance  spoke  her  surprise  very  plainly. 

"  I  see,  my  love,  that  you  don't  understandnie,"  continued 
Lady  Augusta  :  "  but  I  am  sure  you  will  allow  me  to  be  con- 
fidential with  you.  This  friendship  of  Helen's  troubles  me. 
I  don't  know  how  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  Sir  Henry  is  so  indul- 
gent, he  won't  interfere.  A  step-mother's  position  is  a  very 
difficult  one,  Susan  ;  it  is  always  looked  upon  with  suspicion, 
and  Helen  is  naturally  inclined  to  rebel  against  authority. 
What  I  want  is  a  frieud  who  will  enter  into  my  views,  who 
will  be  a  friend  to  Helen  also  :  am  I  mistaken,  dear  child, 
in  thinking  that  I  may  look  to  you '?  " 

Susan  murmured  something  about  her  mother,  it  was  the 
only  way  which  presented  itself  of  escaping  what  her  instinct 
told  her  was  likely  to  be  a  very  disagreeable  proposition. 

"  Ah  !  but,  my  love,  that  won't  epiite  do.  It  is  a  friend 
of  her  own  age  that  Helen  requires — an  influence  which  she 
will  not  suspect.     Surely,  Susan,  you  would  help  ?  " 

"  I  can't  see  what  I  am  to  do,"  was  Susan's  blunt  reply. 

"  Tact,  my  dear ;  that  is  the  great  desideratum,  and  I 
am  sure  you  possess  it  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Susan.  "  I  speak  my  mind  too 
plainly." 

"  That  simple  sincerity  !  Helen  will  value  it  above  all 
things.  It  will  be  a  counterpoise  to  Madame  Reiuhard's  in- 
fluence.    You  could  not  come  and  stay  with  us,  Susan  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  no  ;  impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  who 
could  not  help  remembering  that  she  had  been  in  London 
for  several  weeks,  and  had  received  from  Lady  Augusta  only 
the  bare  civilities  of  distant  acquaintance,  until  now  there 
was  a  motive  for  a  show  of  affection. 

"  Why  impossible,  my  love  ?  Surely  your  dear  mother 
will  spare  you,  and  Anna  and  Isabella  are  so  good  and  use- 
ful." 

"  The  Admiral  won't  like  it,"  said  Susan. 


108  IVOKS. 

"  Poor,  dear  old  man  !  I  suppose  not ;  but  he  must  be 
humoured  ;  we  must  come  round  hiui.  I  can't  accept  a  re- 
fusal." 

Susan's  eye  wandered  round  the  room  to  escape  Lady 
Augusta's  gaze,  which  was  so  determined  it  almost  compelled 
her  to  say  yes. 

In  her  confusion  she  moved  a  book  near  her,  and  Claude's 
glove  fell  to  the  ground ;  she  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  Lady 
Augusta  glanced  at  it  inquiringly,  as  it  was  laid  upon  the 
table,  but  she  made  no  remark,  only  repeated  and  insisted 
upon  her  request. 

Susan  felt  a  little  more  inclined  to  yield.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  she  could  do  harm,  and  she  might  do  good  ; 
and  she  felt  very  uneasy  about  Helen.  It  did  not  appear 
right  to  allow  her  dislike  to  Lady  Augusta  to  stand  in  the 
way.  In  a  more  cordial  tone  she  replied,  that  she  would 
talk  to  her  mother,  and  send  Lady  Augusta  a  written  an- 
swer ;  she  felt  much  obliged  for  the  invitation ;  with  a  few 
more  civil  speeches  of  the  same  kind,  which  were  interrupted 
by  a  perfect  hailstorm  of  thanks  from  Lady  Augusta,  whe 
immediately  began  to  enter  more  fully  into  what  she  callec1 
her  views. 

Susan  heard  them  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling.  She 
was  requested  to  be  as  much  as  possible  with  Heleu  and  Ma- 
dame Reinhard,  to  take  care  that  Helen  formed  no  new  ac- 
quaintances amongst  Madame  Reiuhard's  friends;  in  fact, 
to  counteract  indirectly  the  German  influence  which,  for 
some  reason  that  Lady  Augusta  evidently  did  not  choose  to 
confess,  was  still  allowed  the  opportunity  of  working  upon 
Helen's  mind.  Susan  detested  anything  approaching  to 
management  and  plan  She  was  again  upon  the  point  of  de- 
clining the  invitation  at  once,  but  Lady  Augusta  did  not 
give  her  the  opportunity.  Of  course,  she  said,  Susan  could 
not  decide  without  consulting  her  mother;  but  a  refusal  was 


IVORS.  109 

not  to  be  heard  of.  It  would  be  the  greatest  possible  com- 
fort to  know  that  a  third  person,  and  such  a  person,  was 
present  when  Madame  Reinhard  and  Helen  were  together. 

"  But  must  they  be  together  ?  "  asked  Susan,  feeling 
more  and  more,  that  if  she  was  helping  Lady  Augusta  out 
of  a  difficulty,  she  might  be  helping  herself  into  one. 

"  My  love,  there  are  reasons— you  would  scarcely  believe 
it,  but  Helen  has  few  persons  to  take  an  interest  in  her.  We 
have  many  friends,  but  they  all  have  their  engagements — 
the  London  world  is  sadly  selfish.  And  you  know,  Helen 
and  I  are  very  different,  our  tastes  lie  quite  in  an  opposite 
direction.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  follow  her  to 
all  the  frivolities  on  which  her  heart  is  set.  And  Madame 
Reinhard  makes  herself  useful,  so  that  I  don't  venture  to  in- 
terfere. Helen,  indeed,  seems  to  take  pleasure  in  forming 
engagements  which  interfere  with  my  one  hour  of  rest  in 
church  ;  very  different  from  you,  my  love." 

"  We  generally  go  to  the  morning  service,"  said  Susan  ; 
"  that  interferes  with  no  one." 

"  Ah  !  if  health  would  permit  !  But  late  hours,  late 
breakfasts  :  what  is  to  be  done  ?  But  I  must  not  stay  and 
talk,  my  dear,  though  I  could  willingly.  Can  I  see  the  old 
Admiral  for  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

Lady  Augusta  was  shown  into  the  library.  The  Admi- 
ral tried  to  look  his  best.  He  detested  condolences,  but 
they  formed  a  necessary  part  of  Lady  Augusta's  formulas. 
He  contrived,  however,  to  cut  them  short. 

"  Your  ladyship  gives  yourself  too  much  trouble  in  ask- 
ing so  many  questions,  lam  as  well  as  pleases  God;  not 
quite  so  well  as  pleases  myself.  I  should  be  back  in  the 
country  if  it  weren't  for  Trances  Graham,  or  rather  her 
children." 

"  You  are  good  to  them,  my  dear  sir." 

"Not  at  all   good.     They   put  themselves  out   of  their 


110  rv-OEs: 

way  to  eorac  to  London  when  I  wanted  to  see  my  doctor, 
and  it's  only  fair  that  I  should  put  myself  out  of  mine  when 
they  want  to  see  all  there  is  to  be  seen." 

"  But  it  must  be  a  great  enjoyment  to  them.  Dear  Su- 
san, however,  seems  less  energetic  than  the  rest ;  I  found  her 
sitting  thoughtfully  alone  in  the  drawing-room." 

"  Susan  stayed  at  home  because  she  had  a  cold.  She 
has  n't  been  alone  very  long ;  Claude  Egerton  was  there  talk- 
ing to  her  not  half  an  hour  ago."  The  Admiral  felt  some- 
thing like  a  naughty  child  in  saying  this  :  he  hoped  to  teaze 
Lady  Augusta,  and  was  quite  aware  that  he  should  not  have 
done  it  if  Mrs.  Graham  had  been  present. 

But  Lady  Augusta  was  imperturbable.  She  did  not  even 
betray  that  her  curiosity  was  satisfied  in  having  discovered 
the  owner  of  the  glove. 

"  Poor  Claude  !  He  is  a  frequent  visitor  here,  I  sup- 
pose," she  replied.  "  I  was  glad  to  hear  a  friend  say,  the 
other  day,  that  his  spirits  were  rallying." 

The  Admiral  laughed  bitterly.  "  Your  ladyship  thinks 
with  Shakspeare,  '  Men  have  died,  and  worms  have  eaten 
them  ;  but  not  for  love.'  I  believe  you  are  right.  Claude 
Egerton  is  too  sensible  a  man  for  that.  I  suppose  we  are 
to  congratulate  Miss  Helen  upon  being  prospective  Countess 
of  Harford." 

"  My  dear  Admiral,  that  is  looking  very  far  forward. 
No ;  T  don't  allow  my  mind  to  dwell  upon  such  remote  pro- 
babilities— possibilities  perhaps  I  ought  to  call  them  :  I  wish 
to  dwell  only  in  the  present.  Life  is  so  very  uncertain  ;  and 
one  may  never  live  to  sec  what  now  seems  close  at  hand.  I 
shall  feel  for  poor  Claude  if  ever  the  time  should  come." 

"  Feel  for  him  !  "  thundered  the  Admiral.  "  He  doesn't 
want  any  one  to  feel  for  him.  I  beg  your  ladyship's  par- 
don, but  Claude  Egerton  can  never  be  in  want  of  a  wife 
when  he  chooses  to  ask  for  one." 


IYOES.  Ill 

"  I  quite  understand,  my  dear  Admiral,  quite  sympathise 
with  you  :  yes,  indeed,  dear  Claude  is  a  very  noble  fellow  ! 
I  only  feel  sorry  that  he  should  have  fixed  his  affections  so 
unfortunately,  and  been  so  exigeant.  He  pressed  the  thing 
— no  woman  can  bear  that ;  but  then  Claude  was  never  ac- 
customed to  women." 

"  Not  to  such  women  !  "  murmured  the  Admiral  to  him- 
self. He  said  aloud,  rather  sulkily,  "  I  suppose  Sir  Henry 
i3  too  busy  to  come  and  see  an  old  uncle  ?  " 

'•  He-is  very  busy,  at  the  House  every  night;  but  he 
would  certainly  find  time  for  you,  if  he  thought  you  had  the 
slightest  feeling  upon  the  matter." 

"  I  don't  say  I  have,"  muttered  the  Admiral  ;  then  vexed 
with  himself,  he  added  with  childlike  candour,  "  I  should  n't 
care  to  see  him  if  he  came  only  for  duty." 

"  But  he  will  be  delighted,  he  will  be  rejoiced  to  talk 
ov.-r  public  matters  with  you,  and  he  will  tell  you  about  dear 
Claude's  success.  We  naturally  take  a  deep  interest  in  his 
career.  I  have  heard  many  most  eminent  opinions  about 
him  ;  all  agree  he  is  likely  to  be  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  his  day." 

"  Humbug  !  "  was  the  word  which  came  most  readily  to 
the  Admiral's  lips ;  yet  he  could  not  help  inquiring  a  little 
more  minutely  into  the  eminent  opinions  ;  and  Lady  Au- 
gusta repeated,  aud  enlarged  upon  them,  and  detailed  a  few 
anecdotes,  and  touched  upon  public  topics  so  as  to  give  the 
Admiral  just  the  opportunity  of  contradicting  her,  which  he 
enjoyed.  He  really  thought  at  last  that  he  had  so  put  her 
down,  that  he  could  afford  to  be  generous  and  civil,  and  then 
Lady  Augusta  seized  her  moment,  and  brought  forward  the 
subject  which  had  been  upon  her  mind  from  the  beginning — 
Susan's  visit. 

The  Admiral  grumbled, — would  give  no  opinion, — thought 
Susan  would  be  much  better  at  home, — did  not  know  what 


112  IVORS. 

her  mother  would  say, — but  he  was  by  no  means  decidedly 
antagonistic  ;  and  Lady  Augusta,  having  learnt  from  long 
experience  to  "  let  well  alone,"  took  care  not  to  thank  him 
too  much,  but  hurried  to  her  carriage,  and  drove  to  church, 
to  exhibit  herself  in  her  favourite  character  of  unworldliness, 
and  to  congratulate  herself  that  her  friends  would  no  longer 
find  fault  with  her  for  allowing  Helen  to  associate  exclusively 
with  Madame  Reinhard. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

?  Susan,  are  you  dressed  for  dinner  already  ?  "  said  Helen, 
coming  into  her  cousin's  room  at  Grosvenor  Place. 

"  I  had  something  to  read  which  I  wished  particularly  to 
finish,"  said  Susan;  "  so  I  dressed  first,  that  I  might  not  be 
hurried." 

u  And  you  are  not  in  a  humour  to  talk  then  ?  Yet  I 
have  seen  nothing  of  you  yet." 

"  Is  Madame  Reinhard  gone?  "  asked  Susan. 

"  Yes,  for  the  present " — and  Helen  sighed,  and  sat  down 
in  the  easy  chair,  determined  not  to  be  sent  away. 

"  You  have  had  a  long  conversation  with  her,"  said 
Susan ;  "  you  began  before  Lady  Augusta  and  I  went  to 
Church." 

Helen  looked  up  quickly.  "  So  odd  that  is  in  you,  Susan, 
to  go  to  church  with  mamma  !  and  you  are  not  in  the  least  a 
humbug — Madame  Reinhard  says  so." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  her  for  her  good  opinion,"  replied 
Susan,  rather  haughtily. 

"  You  don't  like  Madame  Reinhard ;  you  have  a  pre- 
judice against  her,  but  you  will  come  round.  She  does  you 
more  justice  than  you  to  her." 


IVORS.  113 

"  Because  slie  allows  that  I  am  Dot  a  humbug  ?  "  ashed 
Susau,  ironically. 

"  That  does  not  mean,  I  hope,  that  you  think  her  one !  " 
exclaimed  Helen,  almost  angrily. 

"  Oh  no,  I  would  not  for  the  world  say  that,  yet  I  should 
think  it  possible  she  deceives  herself." 

"  She  has  a  great  deal  to  say  for  her  opinions,"  replied 
Helen. 

"  So  have  most  persons  who  form  them  according  to  their 
wishes."* 

"  She  has  a  great  deal  to  say  for  her  opinions,"  again  re- 
peated Helen,  speaking  to  herself  ;  then  looking  up  suddenly 
at  Susan,  she  said :  "  If  you  were  a  slave,  Susan,  should  you 
think  it  any  sin  to  run  away  ?  " 

"  I  don't,  suppose  I  should  ;  at  any  rate,  it  would  be  a 
sore  temptation." 

"A  sore  temptation!"  repeated  Helen;  "one  would 
risk  life  for  freedom,  and  why  not  happiness  ?  "  she  added, 
in  an  under  tone.  It  seemed  as  though  she  were  mocking 
her  own  words. 

Susan  looked  at  her  sadly.  "  Helen,"  she  said,  "  Ma- 
dame Ileinhard,  whatever  pleasure  she  may  give  you,  fails  in 
making  you  thoroughly  happy." 

"  In  that  respect  she  is  like  every  one  else,"  replied 
Helen  ;  "  when  have  I  ever  been  happy  ?  " 

"  In  your  childhood,  when  we  played  together  by  the 
lake,  and  made  huts  in  the  wood,  and  said  we  would  love 
each  other  all  our  lives." 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "  No,  Susan,  no  ;  you  are  mis- 
taken, I  was  not  happy  then.  I  lived  in  my  own  imaginations, 
hut  I  was  not  deceived  by  them;  I  knew  them  to  he  unreal, 
and  all  my  life  T  have  been  searching  for  reality,  and  have 
never  found  it." 

'•  And  do  yon  think  that  Madame  Ileinhard  will  give  it 

vou  ?"  asked  Susan. 
°  19 


114  IVORS. 

"  At  least  she  longs  for  it,  as  I  do,"  replied  Helen ;  "  we 
can  search  for  it  together.  Ah  !  Susan,  you  can  little  com- 
prehend the  charm  there  is  in  that  thought ;  you  who  have 
enjoyed  sympathy  always." 

"  Sympathy  in  my  better  feelings,"  said  Susan,  "  not  in 
my  fancies.  My  mother  guided  me,  Helen — that  has  heen 
my  blessing." 

"  And  I  have  had  no  guide,"  exclaimed  Helen.  "  Mam- 
ma thinks  she  is  my  guide,  and  asserts  a  power  over  me ;  but 
how  can  I  submit  my  reason  to  forms, — shams  ?  Truth  ! 
give  me  but  truth.  If  it  be  not  mine  now,  let  me  be  free  to 
seek  it.  Surely  it  is  one's  first  duty,"  she  added,  her  large, 
speaking  eyes  bent  upon  Susan  with  a  look  of  keen,  eager, 
restless  earnestness. 

A  sense  of  fear, — of  some  unknown  evil,  stole  over  Su- 
san's heart.  She  drew  near  to  Helen,  and  knelt  beside  her, 
and  said  gently  :  "  Helen,  you  have  something  on  your  mind 
which  makes  you  speak  in  this  way." 

"  Only  a  question,  a  doubt,"  and  Helen  laughed,  a  sharp, 
harsh  laugh.  "  If  I  were  Louisa  Stuart,  I  would  make 
Shakspeare  my  mouthpiece  : — 

"  To  be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  tbe  question : — 
Whetber  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 
Tbe  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And,  by  opposing,  end  tbem  ?  " 

But  you  don't  understand,  we  won't  talk  any  more  ;  it  is  all 
nonsense — nothing.  Tell  me — you  have  n't  told  me  yet — 
how  did  you  make  your  mother  and  the  old  Admiral  con- 
sent to  your  coming  here  ?  " 

"  By  telling  them  I  should  like  it,"  replied  Susan  :  "  but 
Helen,  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  treat  me  in  this  strange 
fashion." 


IVORS,  115 

Helen  interrupted  her,  "  Telling  them  you  liked  it  ! 
When  I  say  I  like  it,  I  have  nay  :  "would  you  bear  that  ?  " 

"  Helen,  dearest,  you  won't  be  lectured  by  me,  or  I  could 
lecture." 

^  "I  will  be — yes,  I  will :  "  and  Helen's  manner  changed 
suddenly,  and  she  became  grave  and  gentle.  "  I  love  you, 
Susan ;  you  would  be  my  better  angel — you  would  give  me 
rest  if  you  could." 

u  I  would  try  to  show  you  where  rest  is  to  be  found," 
said  Susan.     "  You  seek  it  in  yourself,  and  it  is  not  there." 

"  No,  indeed,  indeed;  but,  Susan,  let  me  tell  you;  you 
have  known  my  life — everything;  you  will  not  blame  me. 
Rest,  and  truth,  and  goodness,  they  are  all  phantoms  to  me ; 
they  have  come  near  me,"  and  she  slightly  shuddered,  "  and 
I  have  tried  to  grasp  them,  but  they  have  eluded  me.  Per- 
haps it  has  been  my  own  fault — perhaps  I  had  no  power  to 
retain  them, — but  they  are  gone  now,  and  they  will  never 
return  to  me  again  ;  and  so  I  would  try  to  do  without  them. 
If  I  cannot  have  the  happiness  of  which  I  once  dreamed, 
yet  I  would  have  freedom, — room  for  my  mind  to  expand — 
scope  for  my  intellect.  If  I  am  weak  myself,  so  much  the 
more  need  that  I  should  find  strength  in  the  strength  of 
others.  But  all  this  is  denied  me.  I  am  hampered  on 
every  side,  checked  in  every  longing  for  what  is  great  and 
noble ;  soon  I  shall  be  isolated  from  all  I  love  or  care 
for.    "When  we  return  to  Ivors  my  life  will  be  a  dreary  waste." 

Susan  interrupted  her.  "  Helen,  no  one  has  a  right  to 
say  so  who  lives,  as  you  do,  surrounded  by  persons  who  arc 
dependent  upon  you,  and  are  ready  to  be  influenced  by  you." 

"  Influence  !  "  exclaimed  Helen.  "  Ob,  Susan  !  how  lit- 
tle you  know  !  Where  is  the  influence  of  one  who  has  no 
power  of  sympathy  ?  You  look  shocked ;  but  it  is  true. 
Education,  people  say,  docs  everything:  if  so,  I  may  thank 
mine   for  making  me  what   I    am.      I  was  never  taught  to 


116  IVORS. 

think  of  others  except  to  criticise.  Ivors  was  my  world,  and 
I  knew  and  cared  for  nothing  beyond  it.  You  know  your- 
self that,  whether  the  persons  who  lived  near  us  were  happy 
or  unhappy, — whether  they  had  tastes  and  interests  like 
mine,  or  feelings,  or  affections,  it  was  of  no  consequence  to 
me.  I  was  taught  to  look  upon  them  as  something  foreign 
to  myself.  Occasionally  I  may  have  heard  anecdotes  which 
seemed  to  bring  them  within  my  powers  of  comprehension; 
but  my  first  impulse  was  to  judge  their  actions  by  my  own 
standard — the  standard  of  Ivors, — and  to  condemn  them  if 
they  differed  from  it.  I  have  learnt  now  to  laugh  at  that 
standard,  Susan,  but  I  have  not  learnt  to  understand  my  fel- 
low-creatures. No  ;  care  for  others,  whether  poor  or  rich, 
will  never  make  Ivors  anything  to  me  but  a  home  of  dreary 
monotony." 

"  But  if  it  is  the  scene  of  your  duties,"  began  Susan. 

Helen  laughed  faintly.  "  Susan,  dear,  are  you  still  so 
innocent  ?  Do  you  really  believe  it  possible  to  govern  one's 
affections  by  cold  duty  ?  You  must  give  up  that  creed,  at 
least  where  I  am  concerned  !  " 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  live  without  sympathy  ?  "  ex- 
claimed Susan. 

"  Not  at  all,  so  that  it  shall  be  of  my  own  choosing. 
Give  me  but  the  power  to  choose  my  friends, — the  few  whom 
I  may  love,  and  who  will  love  me  in  return,  and  I  will  ask 
for  nothing  more  ;  the  world  may  then  go  its  own  way." 

"  I.  don't  understand  that  happiness,  Helen,"  said  Susan, 
gravely.     "  It  seems  to  me  to  be  only  a  form  of  selfishness." 

"  I  won't  call  it  happiness,"  replied  Helen,  quickly, 
"  only  the  best  substitute  for  it.  But  I  must  have  it — yes 
— at  all  hazards,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  assumed  firmness. 

"  And  what  would  be  your  notion  of  real  happiness, 
then  ?  "  asked  Susan. 

Helen  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  made  no  reply. 


IVORS.  117 

The  dressing-bell  rang,  and  she  started  up.  Her  coun- 
tenance was  very  pale,  and  when  Susan  touched  her  fingers 
they  were  of  an  icy  coldness. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  trying  to  draw  away  the  hand 
whicii  Susan  held. 

A  strong  impulse  gave  Susan  strength  to  say,  "  Helen, 
you  are  deluding  yourself,  and  suffering  Madame  Eeinhard 
so  delude  you." 

"  Freedom  !  "  exclaimed  Helen, — a  wild  glance  shot  from 
her  eyes* 

"  Yes,  freedom,"  repeated  Susan;  "none  can  be  happy 
without  it ;  but — let  me  say  it,  Helen,  it  is  no  cant — there 
is  but  one  true  freedom,  not  outward,  but  inward, — freedom 
from  ourselves." 

Helen  smiled  scornfully. 

"  Freedom  from  the  power  of  our  own  will,"  continued 
Susan — "freedom  which  shall  bring  every  thought  into  cap- 
tivity to  a  higher  law." 

Helen  shook  her  head  ;  her  lip  quivered.  "  Too  late  for 
that !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  must  be  what  I  have  been  made 
— what  I  am  doomed  to  be  ;  "  and  almost  before  Susan  had 
time  to  speak  again  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

Admiral  Clare  was  ill.  The  physician  said,  not  seriously 
so,  and  talked  of  suppressed  gout,  and  hoped  that,  in  a  few 
days,  a  regular  attack  would  make  everything  right.  Mrs. 
Graham  nursed  him  unweariedly,  and  kept  up  her  own  spirits 
and  the  spirits  of  every  one  about  her.  She  would  not  al- 
low Susan  In  be  sent  for,  and    had  always  a  cheerful  plan  lor 


IIS  IVORS. 

the  day  for  Isabella  and  Anna,  and  a  hopeful  word  foi 
Claude  Egerton.  The  word  danger  was  never  mentioned  ; 
but  there  was  one  symptom — it  might  have  been  thought 
superstition  to  notice  it,  yet  every  one  did — the  old  man's 
irritable  and  eager  spirit  had  sunk  already  to  rest.  He 
obeyed  his  doctor,  and  trusted  to  his  servants ;  he  scarcely 
uttered  an  impatient  word;  but  something  of  a  child's  con- 
fidence had  stolen  over  him, — a  belief  that  all  would  be 
well,  whatever  it  might  be.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had 
deliberately  resigned  his  will  into  the  Hands  of  God. 

He  had  kept  his  bed  about  four  days,  growing,  perhaps, 
a  little  weaker,  but  with  no  other  sign  of  change.  Mrs. 
Graham  was  sitting  in  his  room,  and  he  was  repeating  a  psalm 
himself.  He  did  this  constantly,  not  couscious,  apparently, 
that  he  could  be  heard.  That  simple-hearted  unreserve 
which  is  quite  unaware  of  observation  had  always  been  one 
of  his  chief  characteristics.  When  the  psalin  was  ended  he 
lay  quiet  for  a  little  time;  and  then  Mrs.  Graham  thought 
that  he  was  asking  for  some  water,  and  went  up  to  his  bed- 
side. 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  her,  and  smiled,  and  said  he  was 
not  wanting  anything,  he  had  only  been  thinking  aloud. 
"  Very  happy  thoughts,  Frances,  but  I  don't  trouble  about 
them.     It  will  all  be  as  God  wills." 

"  Are  they  thoughts  about  which  I  can  help  in  any  way, 
dear  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  Frances ;  no.  It  is  n't  for  us  mortals  to  meddle  in 
these  matters.  Only  it  seems  to  me  now  as  if  the  way  was 
opened,  and  so  I  was  thanking  God  for  it."  He  paused  a 
moment  and  added  :  "  "Would  there  be  any  harm,  Frances,  in 
having  my  little  Susan  back  ?  I  won't  ask  it  if  she  is  bet- 
ter where  she  is." 

(:  She  shall  come  directly,  dear  sir,  if  you  have  the  slight- 
est wish  to  see  her.     She  wanted  to   return,  as  you  know, 


rvoES.  119 

directly  she  heard  you  were  ill,  but  Lady  Augusta  wrote 
such  au  urjrent  note.  ' 

"  She's  right, — yes ;  the  child  may  do  more  good  there 
than  here.  Frances,  there's  a  reproach  on  my  conscience. 
Helen  Clare  may  be  a  giddy-pated  girl,  but  I  should  have 
tried  to  make  her  better,  instead  of  calling  her  so." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  could  not  have  done  much,"  began  Mrs. 
Graham. 

"I  could  have  prayed  for  her,"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
with  sudcleu  energy.  "  If  I  had  said  a  prayer  for  every  cross 
word  I  have  spoken  about  her,  perhaps  by  this  time  she 
might  have  been  on  her  way  to  Heaven.  God  forgive  me 
for  Jesus  Christ's  sake,"  and  he  joined  his  hands,  and  closed 
his  eyes,  repeating  the  words  again  to  himself. 

"  I  trust  Helen  is  on  that  way  now,"  said  Mrs.  Graham 
reverently.  "  Her  faults  may  be  great,  but  I  cannot  but 
think  there  is  a  right  purpose  underneath." 

The  Admiral  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  Claude  Eger- 
ton  has  seen  my  little  Susan  more  latterly,  Frances ;  he  has 
talked  to  me  about  her.  He  would  not  say  to  you  what  he 
does  to  me." 

Mrs.  Graham's  manner  was  a  little  nervous.  She  re- 
plied :  "  I  am  sure  Claude  esteems  Susan  highly,  but  I  can't 
say  I  have  ever  seen  anything  which  would  make  me  believe 
he  has  any  warmer  feeling." 

"  So  you  always  say,"  replied  the  Admiral,  in  a  disap- 
pointed tone.  "  liut  it's  as  God  wills ;  quite  as  He  wills, 
remember.  I  don't  want  to  wish  ;  I  ask  Ilim  every  day  not 
to  let  me  wish.  But  I  love  her,  He  knows  why;  and  so, 
sometimes,  as  I  lie  here,  I  tell  him  what  I  think  would  be 
happy  for  her,  and  it  is  letting  out  my  heart.  He  understands 
it  all,  and  ordered  every  thing  for  me,  and  for  you,  and  for 
all,  long  before  the  child  was  thought  of  ;  and,  Frances,  I 
can  say  to  llim  what  there's  no  one  here  to  know  anything 
about." 


120  IVORS. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  earnestly  ;  "  one  does  feel  the 
blessedness  of  being  understood  by  God  more  and  more  every 
day." 

"And  it  can't  be  wrong  to  think,"  began  the  Admiral — 
he  waited,  considered,  then  repeated  the  words,  and  added, 
"  I  pray  Him  to  teach  me  if  it  is." 

"  "Wrong; !  what  ?  dear  sir,"  asked  Mrs.  Graham. 

His  answer  was  abrupt,  as  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Graham 
fixedly.  "  You  are  n't  like  your  mother,  Frances.  I  have 
often  tried  to  think  you  were,  but  you  are  not." 

"  I  am  like  my  father,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

A  strange,  sad  smile  passed  over' the  old  man's  face.  "A 
cause  why  I  ought  not  to  care  for  you,  so  people  would  say. 
But  that  was  never  my  fashion.  Let  my  own  heart  break,  so 
that  those  I  love  are  happy.  But  it  did  n't  break,  it  only 
shrivelled,  dried  up  for  a  time  ;  and  now  it  seems  fresh  again. 
Perhaps,  Frances,  God's  dew  has  fallen  upon  it,  and  so  re- 
stored it." 

A  choking  sensation  in  Mrs.  Graham's  throat  interrupted 
the  answer,  and  the  Admiral  continued:  "Age  makes  us 
young  again.  You  will  feel  that  if  you  ever  come  to  my 
time  of  life.  I  have  lived  continually  in  my  youth  of  late 
years;  and  now  that  God  has  placed  me  on  my  death- bed, 
and  made  me  helpless,  He  seems  to  carry  me  back  to  be  a 
child.  My  little  Susan's  face  is  very  sweet  to  me,  Frances. 
I  shall  like  to  see  her  by  my  side  again;  only  don't  let  her 
come  if  she's  needed  elsewhere,  if  she  can  do  good.  I  can 
dream,"  he  added,  eagerly,  and  a  flash  of  light  sparkled  in 
his  dim  eye  :  "  it  is  n't  any  living  features  that  are  needed  to 
help  me  to  do  that.  God  gives  me  back  the  memory  when 
my  eyes  are  closed,  and  He  sends  no  sorrow  with  it  now. 
They  '  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage  '  where  she 
is,  Frances,  and  I  shall  love  her  there,  and  tell  her  that  I  do, 
and  perhaps — I  would  n't  think  of  it,  if  it  were  seen  not  to 


IVORS.  121 

be  God's  will, — but  perhaps  it  may  be  pleasant  to  her,  even 

in  her  great  joy,  to  be  told  that  I  cared  for  the  child  for  her 

sake,  and  left  her  on  earth  happy.    Was  that  Claude's  step  ?  " 

Claude   came  into   the   room.     The   Admiral's   ear  had 

caught  the  accustomed  sound  though  Mrs.    Graham  had  not 

heard  it. 

"  Are  you  better  to-day,  dear  sir  ?     I  don't  think  you 

look  so." 

"  Yes,  Claude,  better,  always  better.  When  one  is  nearer 
to  port,  pne  must  be  so." 

Claude  glanced  uneasily  at  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  The  Admiral  has  been  talking  leather  more  than  usual," 
she  said,  "  and  has  tired  himself.  He  certainly  was  better 
this  morning." 

"  And  not  at  all  worse  now,"  said  the  Admiral,  cheerfully. 
"  Sit  down,  my  boy,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing. 
Anything  very  important  last  night  at  the  House  ?  Frances 
has  n't  read  the  papers  to  me  to-day." 

Claude  sat  down,  and  described  with  minuteness  the 
course  of  the  debates  of  the  previous  night,  the  Admiral 
listening  and  occasionally  making  a  remark,  which  showed 
that  his  intellect  was  in  its  full  vigour.  He  even  debated 
some  important  topics  -with  Claude,  differing  from  him,  and 
giving  arguments  with  clear,  though  perhaps  rather  preju- 
diced reasonings.  He  was  much  more  tolerant,  however,  of 
a  contrary  opinion  than  he  had  ever  been  in  health,  and  fre- 
quently interrupted  his  own  train  of  thought,  to  remind 
Claude  that  "  he  did  n't  mean  to  be  positive ;  an  old  man  of 
eighty,  shut  up  in  a  sick  room,  had  no  right  to  be  ;  he  begged 
Claude  to  forgive  him  if  he  was."  The  conversation  in- 
terested him  so  that  no  personal  remarks  were  made  for  some 
time.  But  Mrs.  Graham  remarked  Claude's  face,  and  saw 
that  his  inmost  thoughts  wen;  troubled,  and  she  could  catch 
also,  in  the   intonation  of  his   voice,   something  which  beto- 


122  ivors. 

kencd  a  wandering  attention.  After  a  time  the  Admiral  ap- 
peared tired,  and  said  he  should  like  to  be  quiet,  but  he 
■would  not  hear  of  Claude's  going  away.  He  declared  that  he 
had  not  said  half  he  wished  to  say.  "  Could  n't  Claude  take 
a  book,  and  wait  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ?  "  and  Claude, 
though  his  time  was  precious,  consented,  and  went  with  Mrs. 
Graham  into  the  dressing-room,  the  Admiral  promising  to 
ring  if  he  wanted  them. 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  so  well  to-day,"  said  Claude,  as  Mrs. 
Graham  took  up  her  work.  He  could  not  help  feeling  an- 
noyed that  she  was  calm,  when  he  saw  cause  for  anxiety,  and 
his  tone  showed  it. 

"  I  don't  think  he  is,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  the  change 
has  been  within  the  last  half  hour.  He  always  is  worse  when 
he  has  been  exciting  himself  with  conversation,  and  yet  if  he 
likes  to  talk,  it  seems  hard  to  try  and  stop  him." 

"  And  you  would  not  think  of  sending  for  Miss  Graham," 
asked  Claude.  He  had  almost  said  Susan,  the  name  came  to 
him  so  familiarly. 

"I  had  not  thought  of  it,  at  least  till  this  last  conversa- 
tion.    Do  you  see  any  particular  cause  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly."  He  spoke  as  if  attention  was  wandering, 
and  added,  with  abruptness,  "  Does  Miss  Graham  tell  you 
much  of  Madame  Reinhard  ?  " 

"  Not  very  much ;  she  knows  I  have  been  so  occupied 
with  the  Admiral.     But  what  makes  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing ;  "  but  the  nothing  certainly  meant 
something. 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  pained.  "  That  will  not  do  for  an 
old  friend,  Claude." 

He  caught  her  hand  eagerly,  "  Thank  you,  thank  you  foi 
that  name ;  to  hear  it  from  a  woman's  voice  is  so  sweet !  " 

"  Then  you  must  act  towards  me  like  Claude,"  continued 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  There  is  something  troubling  you  ;  I  must 
know  it." 


ivors.  123 

He  sat  down,  and  averted  his  face,  as  he  murmured,  "  I  am 
horribly  weak ;  it  would  be  impossible  to  tell  any  one  but 
you." 

"  There  is  no  amount  of  weakness  which  I  cannot  sympa- 
thise with,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Remember,  I  have  had 
much  longer  experience  in  it  than  you." 

He  smiled  doubtfully,  and  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket, 
but  stopped  as  he  was  upon  the  point  of  giving  it. 

"  You  know  the  Baroness  d'Olban  ?  " 

"  Byname." 

"  And  reputation  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  one  is  unwilling  to  believe  all  that  is  said." 

"  Believe  all,  and  more  than  all,"  said  Claude,  emphati- 
cally, "  and  you  will  not  be  far  from  the  truth.  She  is  Mad- 
ame Reinhard's  friend,  therefore "  he  paused. 

"  Helen's,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  gently. 

He  rose  from  his  scat  impetuously.  "  No,  never,  never ; 
at  least  not  yet,"  he  added,  checking  himself  sadly.  "  But  I 
want  to  explain.  This  letter  was  shown  me  by  an  acquaint- 
ance, I  can  scarcely  call  him  a  friend,  of  my  own.  It  is  ad- 
dressed by  Madame  Reinhard  to  the  Baroness  d'Olban.  No 
secret  was  made  of  it ;  it  was  spoken  of  as  a  good  joke.  It 
concerns "  he  stopped ;  his  voice  was  husky — "  the  sub- 
ject to  which  it  alludes  was  first  made  public  by  Madame 
Reinhard.  There  is  no  reason  perhaps,  you  will  say,  why  I 
should  trouble  myself  about  what  two  such  women  may 
choose  to  say.  But  read  it,  read  it — tell  me  what  you  would 
feel  if  one  of  your  own  daughters  was  discussed  in  that  way. 
Oh,  Helen  !  Helen  !  "  and  Claude  threw  himself  into  a  chair, 
and  groaned  aloud. 

Mrs.  Graham  read  the  letter.  It  was,  as  Claude  had 
slid,  addressed  by  Madame  Reinhard  to  the  Baroness 
d'Olban,  and  written  in  a  style  of  witty,  but  vulgar,  confiden- 
tial  intimacy!     It  alluded    to    previous    conversations,   and 


124  ivors. 

facts,  -which  were  evidently  well  known,  and  these  of  a  most 
painful  and  humiliating  kind  as  regarded  Helen.  It  seemed 
that  the  chance  of  her  marriage  with  Captain  Mordaunt  had 
become  a  common  topic  of  amusing  speculation,  owing  to 
Madame  Reinhard's  incautiousness,  and  Captain  Mordaunt's 
absence  of  all  delicacy  of  feeling.  Captain  Mordaunt  appeared 
to  have  made  Madame  Reinhard  his  confidante,  whilst  she 
communicated  all  that  passed  to  the  Baroness  d'Olban. 
Helen's  name  was  bandied  about  at  cluts,  and  the  letter  al- 
luded to  bets  which  had  been  laid  as  to  the  chances  of  her 
marriage,  and  especially  to  one  which  had  been  accepted  by 
Captain  Mordaunt,  depending  upon  Helen's  consenting,  be- 
fore another  week  had  gone  by,  to  be  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Graham  laid  the  letter  upon  the  table  with  a  very 
grave  air. 

Claude  looked  up  ;  but  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"  I  would  ask  one  question,"  she  said  ;  "  is  it  authentic  ?  " 

"  Could  I  make  myself  miserable  for  a  doubt  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  heard  the  reports  and  the  bets  myself.  I  in- 
quired how  they  arose ;  the  thing  was  quite  public.  This 
letter,  as  I  told  you,  was  given  to  me  without  scruple  by  a 
person  to  whom  it  had  been  shown  as  a  capital  joke." 

"  It  is  beneath  Madame  Reinhard,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  ; 
"  it  is  so  low." 

"  She  knows  well  how  to  please  the  person  whom  she 
addresses.     Wit  is  all  the  Baroness  cares  for." 

"  To  plan  deliberately, — to  show  such  an  entire  absence  of 
delicacy  of  mind — such  an  utter  disregard  for  Helen's  feel- 
ings !  "  said  Mrs.  Graham;  "  it  seems  impossible." 

"She  is  false!"  exclaimed  Claude.  "The  very  first 
evening  that  I  saw  her  she  told  me  that  her  acquaintance 
with  the  Baroness  d'Olban  was  slight ;  I  soon  found  that 
they  were  together  constantly.  When  I  discovered  this  I 
resolved  to  watch ;  and    I  have   mixed  with  their  set,  and 


ivoks.  125 

learnt Oh,  Mrs.  Graham  !  death  would  be  better  than  to 

see  Helen  what  they  are.  She  has  deceived  and  disappointed 
me ;  she  is  but  the  wreck  of  what  she  once  was ;  but  she 
cannot  be  to  me  merely  what  other  women  are.  No ;  let 
her  marry  whom  she  will," — his  lips  quivered,  but  he  re- 
covered himself — "  only  let  it  be  with  her  eyes  open." 

"  Captain  Mordaunt  is  the  most  to  blame,"  began  Mrs. 
Graham. 

Claude  interrupted  her.  "  A  weak,  vain,  miserable 
wretch,  what  could  he  do  against  an  artful  woman  of  the 
world  ? — the  odds  are  not  equal.  When  Madame  Reinhard 
made  up  her  mind  to  get  him  into  her  toils,  she  had  but  to 
flatter  him,  and  the  work  was  done." 

"  Intolerable  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Lady  Au- 
gusta  must  interfere." 

"  And  ruin  everything,"  said  Claude.  "  Madame  Rein- 
hard  has  at  least  done  me  this  favour;  she  has  gossiped  so 
freely  about  Lady  Augusta's  domestic  affairs,  that  I  am  as 
well  acquainted  with  them  as  if  I  had  been  living  in  her 
house.  Lady  Augusta  upholds  Captain  Mordaunt;  even  if 
she  knew  these  facts,  she  might  do  so  still;  if  not,  Helen  is 
in  that  state  of  mind,  that  the  very  slightest  opposition  from 
her  step-mother  would  drive  her  to  assert  her  own  indepen- 
dence :  she  would  marry  instantly." 

"  After  seeing  this  letter  ?     Impossible  !  " 

"  Ah  !  you  don't  know."     A  heavy  sigh  escaped  him. 

"  You  wish  me  to  interfere,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  wish.  The  letter  was  given  me 
only  the  moment  before  I  came  here :  I  have  had  no  time  to 
think."      He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

"  Helen  has  sometimes  listened  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham ;  "but  there  is  an  immense  difficulty  in  interfering 
without  Lady  Augusta's  knowledge :  I  must  go  either  to  her 
or  to  Sir  Henry." 


12G  ivoks. 

"  And  do  nothing  !  "  exclaimed  Claude.  "  Forgive  me, 
but  Sir  Henry  would  instantly  put  the  affair  into  his  wife's 
hands.  There  is  no  one  but  Helen  that  can  rule  Helen," 
he  added,  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Graham  thought  for  a  moment.  "  We  must  take 
the  right  step,"  she  said,  "  and  leave  consequences.  Lady 
Aujmsta  must  know  best  what  should  be  done." 

Claude  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  Lady  Augusta 
knows  the  hours  for  daily  service  in  every  church  in  London, 
and  she  can  tell  you  where  to  find  the  best  singing  and  the 
finest  preachers ;  she  can  give  you,  too,  as  much  ecclesiastical 
gossip  as  you  may  have  a  fancy  to  hear,  and  more,  perhaps, 
than  you  may  like ;  but  what  other  knowledge  she  possesses 
which  may  be  of  use  to  her  daughter,  I  confess  I  have  yet 
to  learn." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  But 
Lady  Augusta's  mania,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  always 
absorbing." 

"  This  is  a  worse  mania  than  any  other,"  replied  Claude. 
"  It  disgusts  really  earnest  people,  and  throws  discredit  upon 
things  in  themselves  worthy  of  all  reverence.  Of  all  play- 
things, religion  is  the  most  dangerous ;  touch  it  for  amuse- 
ment, and  its  wound  is  deadly  ;  and  Lady  Augusta  will  feel 
this  by-and-by.  She  has  made  her  daughter  indifferent; 
before  long  she  will  make  her  a  sceptic." 

Mrs.  Graham  started. 

"  With  Madame  Reinhard  and  the  Baroness  d'Olban  for 
her  friends,"  exclaimed  Claude,  "  how  can  she  escape  ?  Dear 
Mrs.  Graham,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  it  is  not  by 
church  services,  nor  devotional  books,  nor  religious  conver- 
sation, that  a  mind  like  Helen's  can  be  influenced.  The  sight 
of  an  earnest,  practical,  humble  life  would,  through  God's 
mercy,  have  made  her  religious ;  but  she  has  never  had  it. 
Why  should  she  love  religion,  or  even  believe  in  it  ?  It  is 
to  her  merely  another  form  of  vanity  and  excitement." 


ivous.  127 

"  Yet  Helen  ought  to  see  through  Madame  Reinhard," 
said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  She  has  sufficient  truth  in  herself  to 
detect  falsehood." 

"But  not  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  world,"  replied 
Claude,  quickly.     "  She  is  too  guileless  to  be  suspicious." 

"  And  she  was  taught  prejudice  from  her  infancy,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Graham,  thoughtfully.  "  That  may  be  one 
cause  of  her  being  so  easily  misled.  I  have  remarked  in 
other  cases,  where  girls  have  been  brought  up  on  a  system 
of  exclusiveness,  that  their  feelings  become  intensified,  whilst 
their  power  of  judgment  is  narrowed  ;  and  so  any  person 
admitted  to  their  intimacy  is  likely  to  become  an  idol, 
merely  because  there  is  no  one  else  with  whom  a  comparison 
3au  be  made." 

"  Lady  Augusta  would  say,  I  suppose,  that  she  did  give 
Helen  opportunities  of  forming  a  judgment,"  said  Claude, 
ironically.  "  She  brought  her  to  London,  and  allowed  her 
to  rush  through  a  London  season." 

"  Three  months'  residence  in  Loudon  will  not  undo  the 
work  of  nine  months  in  the  country,  and  the  training  of  years 
previous,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Exclusiveness  may  be  al- 
tered b}r  it  in  form,  but  it  certainly  won't  be  destroyed,  for 
it  is  the  habit  of  the  mind.  A  girl  educated  like  Helen  does 
not  know  what  it  is  to  have  sympathies  in  common  with  her 
fellow-creatures.  She  likes  or  dislikes  simply  as  a  mutter 
of  taste,  and  always  in  reference  to  her  own  fancy.  No ;  I 
suspect  we  may  close  our  great  gates,  and  flatter  ourselves 
that  evil  in  a  carriage-and-four  can't  enter,  and  then  find  that 
self-conceit  has  glided  in  unperceived  by  the  wicked.  People 
seem  to  me  to  forget  that  education  is  as  necessary  to  enable 
us  to  form  our  judgment  of  persons  as  of  books.  However, 
we  are  doing  no  good  in  discussing  all  this  now.  The  ques- 
tion is,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Leave  it  all,''  said  Claude,  despondingly.  "  I  am  fool- 
ish t'.  trouble  myself  aboul  the  mutter." 


128  ivors. 

"  You  forget  that  Helen  is  my  sister's  child,"  said  Mrs 
Graham. 

"  Yes,  I  do  forget  it,"  be  exclaimed.  "  When  I  think 
of  her  surrounded  by  the  cant  of  religion  and  philosophy, 
about  to  rush  upon  her  ruin,  I  forget  that  she  is,  or  could 
be,  anything  but  the  pupil  of  Lady  Augusta  Clare." 

"  We  must  not  be  severe,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.     "  Am  I  severe  ?     God 

knows "  he  paused :  his  manner  quite  changed,  as  he 

added,  "  I  would  wish  to  be  guided  by  you." 

Mrs.  Graham  considered.  Then  she  said,  rather  hesi- 
tatingly, "  Your  opinion  of  Madame  Reinhard  would  go  far 
to  second  the  impression  made  by  this  letter." 

"  Mine !  Mrs.  Graham,  you  know  Helen  well.  Have 
you  never  heard  from  her  the  sharp  laugh,  which  rings  as 
though  it  were  struck  from  metal  ?  That  lausrh  would  be 
the  answer  if  she  were  told  my  opinion  of  Madame  Reinhard. 
No ;  there  is  one  person — only  one — your  daughter,  Susan. 
I  have  thought  that  she  might  find  an  opportunity,  only  I 
should  be  so  sorry — so  grieved — to  trouble  her  mind  with 
such  subjects." 

"  I  have  never  kept  from  Susan  any  subjects,  by  knowing 
which  she  could  be  useful  to  others,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  I 
believed  the  necessity  would  neutralise  the  harm.  Besides, 
I  have  always  observed  that  the  mischief  of  the  knowledge 
of  evil  consists,  not  in  the  facts,  but  in  the  mode  in  which 
they  are  communicated.  Whatever  I  have,  at  any  time, 
thought  it  desirable  that  my  children  should  know,  I  have, 
therefore,  told  them  myself  in  as  simple,  and  straightforward, 
and  unmysterious  a  manner  as  I  possibly  could.  Susan 
would  hear  anything  I  might  tell  her,  whether  about  this 
matter  or  any  other  of  the  same  kind,  without  receiving  any 
great  moral  shock.  She  knows  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
evil  in  the  world,  and  she  will  not  become  false,  or  sceptical, 


Ivors.  129 

or  careless  in  her  conduct  because  cases  of  the  kind  are 
brought  before  her.  Still  it  requires  a  great  deal  of  con- 
sideration before  one  can  determine  that  it  is  right  she 
should  be  mixed  up  with  this  business.". 

A  loud  tingling;  of  the  Admiral's  bell  at  that  moment  in- 
terrupted  the  conversation.  Mrs.  Graham  hastened  to  an- 
swer it.  Claude  left  the  letter  and  the  envelope  on  the  table, 
and  would  have  hurried  after  her,  but  she  motioned  to  him  to 
remain.  He  went  to  the  window  and  stood  there,  thinking. 
His  countenance  expressed  feelings  of  mingled  scorn  and  suf- 
fering, and  again  and  again  he  put  his  hand  to  his  brow,  as 
though  the  weight  of  sorrowful  care  were  pressing  him  down 
beyond  his  usual  powers  of  endurance.  A  knock  at  the  door 
was  twice  repeated  before  he  heard  it.  Isabella  entered,  and, 
surprised  at  seeing  him,  was  going  away  again ;  but  Mrs. 
Graham's  voice  from  the  inner  room  summoned  Claude  in  an 
eager,  frightened  tone.  He  rushed  into  the  next  room. 
Isabella  lingered  in  the  dressing-room,  afraid  to  advance 
further. 

The  Admiral's  faintness  had  partially  returned ;  his  face 
was  deathlike,  but  consciousness  was  left.  He  feebly  kept 
Claude's  hand  in  his,  whilst  Mrs.  Graham  tried  every  means 
to  restore  him.  It  was  a  work  of  time  and  difficulty;  one 
moment  he  would  rally,  but  the  next  he  sank  back  again. 
Isabella  stole  into  the  room,  hoping  to  be  useful,  and  was 
sent  to  call  Barnes,  and  write  a  note  to  the  Admiral's  phy- 
sician ;  and  when   this  was  done   she  came  back  to  station 

elfin  the  dressing-room,  and  was  told  that  "  the  Admiral 
waa  better.  Mr.  Egerton  and  Barnes  had  managed  to  raise 
him.  There  was  no  confusion  of  the  mind, — he  knew  them 
all ;  but  he  seemed  distressed  because  Susan  was  not  there, 
and  a  message  was  to  be  sent  to  her."  Isabella  offered  to 
write  it,  and  went  hack  to  the  dr<  s.-iiig-rouni  for  the  purpose. 

Mrs.  Graham   and  Claude  Btood   by  tin'  Admiral's  bed. 


130  IVORS. 

The  old  man  feebly  and  uneasily  turned  his  head  from  side  tc 
side,  looking  for  some  one. 

':  Susan  will  be  here  very  soon,  dear  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham, gently. 

But  he  scarcely  smiled.     His  eye  rested  on  Claude. 

"  She  will  be  here  almost  directly,  sir,"  repeated  Claude. 
"  The  note  will  be  finished  and  sent  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  She  won't  come — she  won't  understand,"  murmured  the 
Admiral. 

"  Oh,  yes !  Susan  understands  more  quickly  than  any 
one,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham,  "  especially  where  those  she 
loves  are  concerned." 

"  I  am  sure  she  won't  delay  a  moment,"  added  Claude, 
earnestly. 

The  Admiral's  dim  eye  became  quite  keen  in  its  expres- 
sion. He  glanced  at  Claude,  and  said,  "  I'm  not  going  to 
die." 

An  irrepressible  smile  crossed  Claude's  face  as  he  an- 
swered, <w  We  hope  you  are  going  to  be  a  great  deal  better, 
dear  sir." 

"  Not  so  much  chance  of  that,"  murmured  the  Admiral. 
"  Frances  " — Mrs.  Graham  bent  down  to  him — "  he'd  much 
better  go  than  write." 

Claude  heard  the  words.  "  Yes,  I  will  go,  sir,  willingly, 
directly ;  "  yet  he  hesitated. 

Mrs.  Graham  read  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  "  Dr. 
Markham  will  be  here  presently,"  she  said,  "  and  you  may 
be  wanted." 

"  Wanted  ?  what  for  ?  "  said  the  Admiral,  quickly. 

"  There  may  be  something  to  be  done, — Claude  may 
make  himself  useful,"  replied  Mrs.  Graham. 

The  Admiral  looked  at  Claude  very  earnestly.  "  I  wish 
you  to  go,"  he  said,  in  a  feeble  voice ;  and  then  he  was  heard 


ITOKS.  131 

muttering  to  himsslf,  as  though  making  an  apology  :  "  it  will 
save  her  a  fright, — he'll  explain." 

Claude  moved  away ;  Mrs.  Graham  followed  him.  "  We 
must  not  fret  him,"  she  said  ;  "  you  had  better  go.  If  you 
ask  for  Susan,  that  will  be  all  that  is  necessary.  Aud  will 
you  tell  Isabella  that  the  note  is  not  wanted  ?  " 

She  pressed  Claude's  hand  affectionately.  He  stood  lin- 
gering, longing  to  say  more,  till  the  Admiral's  voice  was 
heard  at  the  highest  pitch  which  his  strength  allowed :  "  Is 
Claude  gone  ?  why  does  n't  he  go  ?" 

Aud  Claude  then  went  into  the  dressing-room  to  give  his 
message  to  Isabella.  She  was  sitting  at  her  desk,  writing ; 
some  note-paper  and  two  or  three  envelopes  were  lying  by 
her  side.  "  This  is  mine,  I  think,"  said  Claude,  observing 
the  direction  of  that  which  he  had  shown  to  Mrs.  Graham. 
Part  of  a  letter  was  still  in  it ;  the  remainder  lay  upon  the 
table,  rather  hidden  by  the  desk,  and  he  did  not  remark  it  ; 
neither  did  Isabella  till  Claude  was  gone,  and  she  had  finished 
writing,  and  moved  away  her  desk ;  and  then  she  took  it  up, 
and  looked  at  it;  and,  finding  it  was  something  which  did 
not  belong  to  her,  imagined  it  must  have  been  addressed  to 
her  mother,  and  put  it  into  the  pocket  of  her  blotting-book, 
to  be  kept  safely. 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

IIki.kn  Clare  sat  alone  in  the  little  morning-room  adjoining 
the  drawing-room.  Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  eyelids  were 
heavy  and  swollen,  her  lips  pressed  together,  as  though  she 
had  forgotten  to  smile ;  and  before  her  lay  two  letters,  one 
worn,  aud  creased,  and  blotted,  on  which  many  tears  might 


132  ivoks. 

have  fallen  ;  the  other  fresh  and  new,  written  in  large  char- 
acters, upon  glazed  note  paper,  with  the  stamped  crest  of 
nobility  at  the  top  of  the  page.  Helen's  thoughts  did  not 
take  the  form  of  soliloquy.  People  soliloquise  on  the  stage 
for  the  benefit  of  the  audience,  but  very  rarely  in  real  life 
for  their  own.  And  Helen  was  not  in  a  state  to  carry  on 
any  regular  train  of  thought.  She  was,  indeed,  upon  the 
verge  of  the  great  decision,  by  which,  once  again,  she  was  to 
bind  herself  for  life  ;  and  at  every  sound  of  the  distant  open- 
ing of  a  door,  she  listened  and  trembled,  in  the  expectation 
that  the  interview  which,  at  Madame  Reinhard's  instigation, 
she  had  consented  to  grant,  and  which  she  felt  must  deter- 
mine her  fate,  was  close  at  hand.  But  she  had  not  reached 
this  point  by  thought,  bat  rather,  as  is  the  case  with  thou- 
sands, when  bent  upon  their  own  destruction,  by  not  think- 
ing. She  was  about  to  commit  a  moral  suicide,  and  she 
walked  deliberately  forward,  closing  her  eyes  to  conse- 
quences, and  stopping  her  ears  to  every  voice,  except  that 
which  whispered,  in  the  charmed  accents  of  Madame  Rein- 
hard,  that  marriage,  if  it  were  not  happiness,  would  at  least 
be  freedom. 

Rut  we  are  ingenious  self-tormentors.  And  now,  re- 
solved upon  the  act  which  was  to  place  a  barrier  between 
herself  and  the  days  gone  by,  insurmountable  even  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  Helen  could  not  resist  one  lingering 
glance  at  the  past,  a  glance  strangely  mingled,  of  curiosity 
and  repentance.  How  had  she  felt  towards  Claude  ?  She 
had  almost  forgotten.  Time,  new  scenes,  new  associations, 
the  excitement  of  the  present,  had  so  blended  conflicting 
feelings,  that  she  could  not  recall  them.  She  took  up  his 
letter, — the  few  lines — the  last  which  she  ever  received  from 
him, — in  which,  without  one  word  of  reproach,  he  had  ex- 
pressed his  acquiescence  in  the  sentence  that  parted  them. 


ivoes.  133 

"  Helen,"  it  said,  "  you  have  decided  wisely.  I  have 
neither  the  right  nor  the  wish  to  complain.  We  are  not 
suited,  and  I  could  never  have  made  you  happy.  But  let 
me  say  in  self-defence, — for  I  shall  never  again  have  the 
opportunity, — that  the  last  thought  in  my  mind  was  that  of 
subjecting  you  to  my  will.  My  dream  was  of  a  law  which 
should  rule  us  both, — the  law  of  mutual  love,  and  of  willing 
dedication  of  ourselves  to  God.  May  we  both  be  saved  from 
the  unutterable  wretchedness  of  seeking  for  happiness  with- 
out it ! 

"  Do  not  think  I  shall  forget  you  ;  it  is  impossible  :  your 
name  will  still.be  treasured  amongst  my  dearest,  though  sad- 
dest memories ;  and  when  I  hear  that  you  are  blest,  I  shall 
feel  that  I  am  blest  myself. 

"  Claude  Egeiiton." 

Oh!  the  pang  of  shame,  of  self-reproach,  which  struck 
Helen's  heart,  as  she  read  these  lines,  and  then  glanced  at 
the  note  upon  the  table  ! 

Claude  and  Captain  Mordaunt !  she  would  not,  could 
not,  ought  not  to  think  of  them  together ;  and  she  rose  up, 
and  paced  the  room,  and  with  a  strong  resolution,  dashed 
away  the  rising  tear,  and  crushed,  with  unsparing  hand,  the 
purer,  holier  longings,  which  those  few  words  had  caused  to 
spring  up  in  her  heart. 

Footsteps  upon  the  stairs !  Helen  turned  pale ;  she 
caught  up  the  letter,  and  sat  down.  Men's  voices  in  the 
lobby  !  She  had  almost  rushed  through  the  door,  opening 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  escaped. 

Yet  why  ?  her  will  was  her  own.  Now,  now,  at  the  last 
moment,  she  might  drawback;  she  had  given  no  open  en- 
couragement, beyond  receiving  a  note  of  silly  compliment ; 
she  had  only  said  to  Madame  Rexnnard,  that  if  Captain 
Mordaunt  called   Bhe  would  see  him.     Coward!  why  should 


134  ivors. 

she  be  afraid  to  listen  to  hiin,  to  hear  all  that  he  would  say, 
and  trust  herself,  if 'she  saw  fit,  to  reject  him  ?  She  took  up 
her  work,  and  the  needle  fell  from  her  trembling  hand;  she 
stooped  to  find  it,  and  at  that  moment  the  door  opened. 

When  she  looked  up,  Claude  Egerton  was  standing  be- 
fore her. 

Cold,  stern,  self-possessed,  not  a  line  of  his  countenance 
betraying  the  slightest  emotion,  confronting  her  without  em- 
barrassment ; — and  Helen  shrank  from  his  eye  like  a  guilty 
thing,  and  her  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  as,  in  reply  to  his 
question,  whether  he  might  be  allowed  to  see  Miss  Graham, 
she  replied,  "  I  believe  so.  Perhaps  she  may  be  gone  out ; 
I  will  go  and  see." 

He  stopped  her.  "  The  servant  will  let  me  know.  I 
would  not  give  you  the  trouble.  I  came  to  take  her  away. 
Admiral  Clare  is  very  ill." 

A  thundering  knock  at  the  street  door  !  Helen  could 
not  rise  from  her  seat ;  if  she  had  attempted  it,  she  must 
have  fallen  to  the  ground.  She  made  no  reply  to  Claude's 
information. 

He  could  not  help  seeing  how  ill  she  looked,  and  he  re- 
marked it. 

She  said  it  was  the  noise ;  she  was  startled  by  it.  Her 
eye  turned  to  the  door,  and  Claude's  glance  followed  the 
same  direction. 

A  little  page  entered  with  a  note.  "  The  gentleman  had 
left  it,  and  would  call  again  in  a  few  minutes." 

Helen  tore  it  open  without  an  apology.  "  Visitors  are 
to  be  shown  into  the  drawing-room,"  she  said,  hurriedly: 
and  the  page  left  the  room. 

"  I  am  in  your  way,"  observed  Claude. 

Helen's  smile  was  ghastly.  "  My  cousin  will  be  here 
directly,"  she  said.  "  She  went  out  with  Mamma.  I  don't 
know  where  she  is." 


ivoes.  135 

Again  she  took  up  her  work,  and  both  were  silent. 

Claude  said  something  more  about  Admiral  Clare.  Helen 
seemed  scarcely  to  hear  him.  He  talked  for  some  minutes, 
and  mentioned  Madame  Reinhard's  name,  and  asked  if  Helen 
saw  much  of  her,  and  watched  the  reply. 

Helen  said,  "  She  must  be  gone  out."  She  thought 
Claude  was  speaking  of  Susan. 

Another  knock.  Claude  took  up  his  hat,  and  remarked 
that  there  must  be  a  visitor.  He  would  wait  in  Sir  Henry's 
study,  if" he  might  be  allowed. 

"  It  does  not  signify ;  there  is  no  hurry,''  said  Helen, 
nervously.     She  seemed  afraid  now  that  he  would  leave  her. 

But  he  insisted  upon  going ;  she  could  not  stop  him ;  but 
she  murmured  something  about  Susan,  and  went  to  the  door, 
and  looked  out  into  the  lobby. 

Claude  followed  her  closely.  Captain  Mordaunt  was 
coming  up  the  stairs.  Claude  saw  the  burning  colour  rise 
to  Helen's  cheeks,  and  with  a  feeling  that  was  almost  mad- 
dening, he  rushed  past  Captain  Mordaunt  without  speaking, 
and  entered  Sir  Henry's  study.  There,  even  there,  before 
the  door  closed,  he  heard  the  free  confidential  tone  in  which 
Helen  was  addressed  ;  her  confused  hesitating  reply,  whilst, 
as  if  certain  of  the  footing  on  which  he  stood,  Captain  Mor- 
daunt followed  her  into  the  little  study. 

No,  it  was  too  late  ;  and  Claude  knelt  down  and  prayed 
for  her. 


CHAPTER  LX. 


Lady  Augusta  Clare's  carriage  was  seen  standing  before  a 
small  house,  in  a  dull  street,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bel- 
gravia.  A  page,  duly  buttoned  and  tutored,  was  at  the  opcu 
door. 


136  IYOKS. 

"  Lady  Louisa  Stuart's,  my  love  ;  you  won't  miud  call- 
ing with  me,  I  hope,"  said  Lady  Augusta  ;  and  Susan  acqui- 
esced, and  was  ushered  up  the  narrow  stairs.  Ormolu, 
porcelain,  Bohemian  glass,  papier  mache,  gilding,  beads, 
Berlin  work,  books  in  blue  and  crimson — such  a  profusion 
of  prettinesses ;  and  Lady  Louisa,  dressed  in  the  youthful 
style  of  three-and-twenty,  flounces  and  ribands,  and  with  the 
simplest,  slightest  apology  for  a  cap,  and  seated  at  an  inlaid 
table,  writing  with  a  gold  pen  upon  superfine  paper  !  Noth 
ing  could  be  more  touching,  or  prospectively  bride-like.  "  My 
dear  Lady  Augusta,"  she  exclaimed,  "  come  at  last !  I  have 
been  waiting,  '  chiding  the  lagging  hours,'  till  I  saw  you. 
And  Miss  Graham,  too  !     I  thought  it  had  been  fair  Helen." 

"  Helen  is  engaged  at  home.  I  supposed  you  would 
think  me  unkind,  if  I  didn't  call,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
bluntly. 

She  seated  herself;  her  countenance  and  attitude  severe. 

Lady  Louisa,  with  an  air  of  uncomfortable  misgiving, 
addressed  herself  to  Susan. 

"  I  have  not  seen  Helen  for  an  age,  but  I  trust  that  time 
is  working  wonders  for  her." 

"  Helen  is  quite  well,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  quickly. 

"  Ah  !  she  has  been  taught  by  Proteus, 

"  '  Cease  to  lament  for  that  thou  canst  not  help  ! ' 

I  should  have  called  to  see  her  long  before  this,  but  I  have 
been  so  occupied." 

Lady  Louisa's  eyes  were  modestly  cast  upon  the  ground. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  be  married  in  London,  Louisa  ?  "  said 
Lady  Augusta. 

"  You  ask  a  difficult  question ;  there  is  much  to  be 
thought  of.     Indeed,  I  have  had  no  time  for  thought." 

"  So  I  imagined,"  said  Lady  Augusta  :  "  one  of  my  rea- 
sons  for   calling  to-day  was  to  say,  that   Sir   Henry  disap- 


ivoes.  137 

proves  of  Helen's  accepting  your  offer  of  having  her  as  one 
of  the  bridesmaids." 

Lady  Louisa  coloured.  "  Indeed !  I  should  have  thought, 
that  considering  former  friendship  and  relationship — yet  I 
suppose  it  may  be  natural  :  there  must  be  painful  reminis- 
cences ;   things  might  have  been  so  different." 

"  You  had  better  get  older  bridesmaids,  Louisa,"  con 
tiuued  Lady  Augusts,    '  they  will  look  much  better." 

For  a  moment  Lady  Louisa  was  discomposed ;  but  she 
quickly  recovered  herself.  "  There  has  been  a  difficulty 
about  bridesmaids,"  she  said  :  "  the  Count  has  so  few  rela- 
tions iu  England,  and  all  my  own  particular  friends  are  mar- 
ried, and  so  indeed  are  most  of  the  young  ladies  of  Helen's 
age.  This  is  her  third  season,  I  believe."  Lady  Augusta 
would  not  vouchsafe  a  reply,  and  Lady  Louisa  addressed 
Susan.  "  You  rather  despise  London  seasons,  I  believe, 
Miss  Graham." 

"  I  have  never  had  the  opportunity,  because  I  have  never 
had  the  experience  of  them,"  said  Susan. 

"  Aptly  answered.  No  doubt  you  devote  yourself  to  the 
sciences  ?  " 

"  I  devote  myself  to  whatever  may  happen  to  come," 
replied  Susan,  laughing.     "  Everything  is  new  to  me." 

"  And  you  are  staying  with  the  Admiral ;  and  of  course 
you  sec  Petruchio  ?  how  fares  he  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Egerton  was  very  well  when  wre  last  met,"  replied 
Susan :  "  but  I  have  not  seen  him  for  some  days." 

"  Very  well,  is  he  !  of  course  meaning  very  happy  ? ' 
and  Lady  Louisa  gave  such  a  peculiar  glance  at  Susan,  that 
she  blushed,  without  knowing  why.  "  "Well,  it  is  but  what 
Rosalind  says:  'The  poor  world  is  almost  six  thousand 
years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there  was  not  any  man  died  iu 
his  own  person,  videlicet,  in  a  love  cause.'  " 

"  You  speak   from  experience,  I  Buppose,  Louisa?"  said 

Lady  Augusta,  sharply. 
20 


138  ivoks. 

"  Nay,  how  can  it  be  niy  own  ?  "  said  Lady  Louisa,  witij 
a  satirical  smile.  "  I  leave  it  to  Helen  to  inflict  the  v«st. 
But,  seriously,  I  am  comforted  to  hear  that  Petruchio  bears 
up  against  his  trial.  He  will  scarcely,  I  suppose,  venture 
upon  another  Kate  ?  "  And  again  Lady  Louisa  determi- 
nately  looked  at  Susan. 

"  You  talked  of  the  Count's  relations,"  said  Lady  Au- 
gusta, abruptly  ;  "  who  are  they  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  A  wide  question  ;  one  must  be  learned  in  the 
blood  royal  of  Poland  to  answer  it,"  said  Lady  Louisa. 

"  I  never  heard  that  Poland  had  a  blood  royal,"  observed 
Lady  Augusta,  drily.  "  I  suppose  their  names  all  end  in 
ski  ;  and  I  should  advise  you,  Louisa,  to  take  care  that  their 
honours  don't  do  the  same,  and  melt  into  thin  air." 

Lady  Louisa  only  smiled,  with  a  pity  that  was  more 
nearly  akin  to  contempt  than  to  love. 

Susan  felt  that  the  conversation  was  becoming  uncom- 
fortable, and,  to  divert  it,  asked  if  Lady  Louisa  had  seen 
Miss  Manners  lately. 

"  This  morning,  only ;  she  is  just  gone  :  and  that  re- 
minds me — I  was  so  sorry  to  hear  from  her  such  a  bad  ac- 
count of  the  Admiral.  She  had  been  calling  in  Cavendish 
Square,  and  was  not  admitted  :  seeing  you  here,  however,  I 
trust  the  report  is  exaggerated." 

Susau  looked  surprised,  but  scarcely  uneasy.  "  It  must 
have  been  a  mistake,"  she  said.  "  I  should  certainly  have 
been  told  if  he  were  worse.  Last  evening  the  account  was 
much  better." 

"  Indeed !  I  dare  say  it  was."  Lady  Louisa  evidently 
thought  the  matter  not  of  the  slightest  consequence,  and 
turned  to  Lady  Augusta. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  scarcely  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Sir  Henry,  and  yourself,  and  fair  Helen,  on  the  twentieth  of 
next  month.  Rumour  whispers  that  you  are  intending  to 
leave  London  about  that  time." 


iyoes.  13£ 

"  We  talk  of  it,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  stiffly.  "  But  the 
twentieth  !  you  are  carrying  on  matters  quickly." 

"  Yes ;  and  overwhelmed  with  business  in  consequence. 
I  may  with  truth  say,  '  I  have  to-day  dispatched  sixteen  bu- 
sinesses a  month's  length  a-piece.'  But  the  Count  has  no 
mercy.     Miss  Graham " 

Susan  started  at  the  sound  of  her  own  name.  "  Ah  ! 
your  thoughts  were  elsewhere  ;  forgive  me." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  Admiral,"  said  Susan.  "  Did 
you  say  fhat  Miss  Manners  had  been  calling  in  Cavendish 
Square  to-day  ?  " 

"  Only  just  before  she  came  here.  Mr.  Egerton,  she  was 
told,  had  gone  to  Grosvenor  Place  with  some  message  for 
you." 

Susan  stood  up  ;  her  face  flushed  and  very  anxious.  "  If 
I  had  only  known,"  she  began,  whilst  looking  at  Lady  Au- 
gusta, and  expecting  her  at  once  to  say  that  they  would  go  : 
but  no  response  was  made,  and  she  left  her  sentence  unfin- 
ished, and  sat  down  again. 

"  Where  do  you  mean  to  go  for  your  wedding  tour,  Loui- 
sa ?  "  asked  Lady  Augusta. 

"  It  is  uncertain.  So  many  are  busy  with  advice  upon 
the  subject,  that  we  are  constantly  changing  our  minds. 
Sometimes  it  is  France,  sometimes  Italy,  occasionally  Ger- 
many. But  doubtless  we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
abroad  if,  as  rumour  has  again  whispered,  you  are  projecting 
a  tour  on  the  continent." 

Lady  Augusta  would  not  reciprocate  the  wish  ;  and  in 
the  pause  that  followed  Susan  again  hoped  that  she  would 
move. 

Lady  Louisa  at  length  observed  the  expression  of  her 
face.  "  You  arc  anxious,  I  am  afraid  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  have 
disturbed  your  peace  of  mind." 

Susan  tried  to  smile,  and  answered,  "A  little.  But  I 
shall  hear  everything  from  Mr.  Egerton." 


140  IYOKS. 

"  You  could  not  have  a  better  messenger,"  said  Lady 
Louisa  ;   ll  so  entirely  considerate." 

"  You  were  not  used  to  speak  so  favourably  of  Claude," 
observed  Lad}'  Augusta,  sharply. 

"  Was  I  not  ?  that  was  because  the  world  spoke  so  well 
of  him  that  there  was  no  need.  I  may  occasionally  have 
laughed  at  Petruchio, — I  have  an  unhappy  knack  of  laugh- 
ing at  every  one, — but  I  never  could  do  anything  but  respect 
him,  and  suppose  that  others  would  have  sense  enough  to  do 
the  same." 

Lady  Augusta  rose  suddenly.  "  Susan,"  she  said,  "  we 
shall  be  late  for  church  ;  are  you  ready  ?  "  Susan  put  down 
her  veil,  wished  Lady  Louisa  good-bye,  and  walked  to  the 
further  end  of  the  room.     Lady  Augusta  lingered. 

"  And  you  really  can  give  me  no  hope  of  seeing  you  on 
the  twentieth,  Augusta  ?  "  said  Lady  Louisa,  feeling  a  little 
mollified  at  the  last  moment,  and  anxious  to  have  the  sanction 
of  such  a  dignified  presence.  "  There  will  be  little  enough 
to  offer  in  the  way  of  entertainment.  My  aunt  comes  to  pre- 
side and  act  the  lady  of  the  house ;  and  we  shall  have  but 
few  guests,  and  nothing  splendid.  With  my  small  establish- 
ment it  could  not  be  otherwise." 

Lady  Augusta  looked  round  to  see  if  Susan  was  near,  and 
then  answered,  "  This  is  not  the  time  to  talk  seriously,  yet  I 
may  not  have  another  opportunity.  Louisa,  though  you 
forget  appearances,  I  don't.  What  can  this  unknown  Polish 
youth  be  to  you  ?  " 

Lady  Louisa  cast  her  eyes  to  the  ground  and  answered, — 

"  '  Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband  ;  I,  a  vine, 

Whose  weakness  married  to  thy  stronger  state, 
Makes  me  with  thy  strength  to  communicate.' 

Is  not  that  answer  enough  ?     Would  you  not  be  happy  if 
Helen  could  say  the  same  ?  " 


IVORS.  14:1 

"  At  one-and- twenty,  yes,"  said  Lady  Augusta  ;  "  and  if 
the  man  were  worth  her  having." 

Lady  Louisa  smiled  hitterly.  "  And  Helen  says  at  one- 
and-twenty,  no  !  though  the  man  may  be  worth  ever  so  much. 
Take  care  that  she  does  not  say  it  too  often." 

Lady  Augusta  drew  her  shawl  round  her,  and  allowed 
Lady  Louisa's  hand  to  drop  from  her  grasp. 

Susan  followed  her  down  stairs  in  silence.  When  they 
were  both  seated  in  the  carriage,  Lady  Augusta  threw  her- 
self back"  and  exclaimed,  "  Intolerable  idiot  !  she  is  worth  no 
better  fate.     Now,  Susan,  for  church." 

But  Susan  had  a  request  to  make  : — She  could  not  go  to 
church  ;  Mr.  Egerton  was  waiting  for  her,  and  she  wished  to 
see  him. 

Lady  Augusta's  eye  rested  upon  her  with  a  sudden  gleam 
of  suspicion.  "  Mr.  Egerton  !  why  should  he  be  sent  ?  They 
can't  wish  you  to  go  back  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know, — I  have  not  thought  about  it, — only  I 
am  so  very  anxious  :  "  and  Susan's  feelings,  repressed  during 
the  interview  witli  Lady  Louisa,  struggled  to  gain  vent,  and 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

Lady  Augusta  spoke  again,  and  more  sternly  :  "  This  is 
weakness,  Susan  ;  I  don't  like  weakness  ;  I  warn  you  against 
it.  You  had  much  better  go  with  me  first ;  it  will  strengthen 
you." 

Susan's  tears  were  repressed  in  an  instant.  "  I  am  never 
afraid  of  not  having  strength  given  me  when  I  am  doing  my 
duty,"  she  said,  "  whether  it  may  be  in  church  or  out  of 
church.     If  Mamma  wishes  me  to  return,  I  must." 

Lady  Augusta's  face  showed  great  displeasure;  she  mur- 
mured, '•  Mr.  Egerton  must  be  very  intimate!  "and  then,  pull- 
ing the  cheek-string,  gave  an  order  that  the  carriage  should 
take  her  to  church,  and  afterwards  carry  .Miss  Graham  back 
to  Grosvenor  Place. 


1P2  IVORS. 

She  did  not  utter  another  word  during  the  remainder  of 
the  drive,  and  Susan  mechanically  watched  the  crowds  mov- 
ing through  the  streets,  whilst  thinking  of  the  Admiral's  ill- 
ness, and  her  mother's  message,  and  in  the  depth  of  her  heart 
nursing  a  vague  feeling  of  mingled  happiness,  shame,  and 
foreboding, — now,  for  the  first  time,  assuming  a  definite  form, 
and  based  upon  those  few  words,  "  Mr.  Egerton  must  be 
very  intimate  !  " 

The  carriage  stopped  in  Grosvenor  Place.  Susan  woke 
up  as  from  a  troubled  dream  when  the  clamorous  knock  was 
given.  She  almost  opened  the  carriage  herself  to  rush  into 
the  house  ;  but  a  conflicting  feeling  kept  her  back.  She 
asked  for  Mr.  Egerton,  and  was  shown  into  Sir  Henry's 
study. 

Claude  sat  there  alone ;  his  back  was  towards  the  door, 
and  he  turned  impatiently  as  she  entered.  Susan  saw  his 
face,  and  her  heart  sank.  Sallow,  dark,  agitated  !  she  read 
in  it  at  once  the  confirmation  of  her  worst  fears. 

"  He  is  dying  !  "  she  exclaimed  :  "  you  are  come  to  tell 
me  of  it !  "  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

Claude  became  more  calm  ;  he  seemed  in  a  moment  to 
throw  aside  self,  and  his  manner  was  full  of  a  brother's  ten- 
derness. He  ventured  to  take  her  hand:  he  spoke  gently 
and  soothingly.  "  The  Admiral,"  he  said,  "  was  not  so 
well,  and  was  wishing  to  see  her.  There  was  nothing  serious 
yet  :  of  course,  all  changes  for  the  worse  must  cause  uneasi- 
ness. Perhaps  Susan  could  return  at  once  in  Lady  Au- 
gusta's carriage  if  it  was  still  waiting  ?  " 

Susan  had  sat  down,  but  she  rose  directly,  her  tears  gone, 
composed,  reasonable,  as  she  always  was.  She  felt  that 
Claude's  eye  was  upon  her  ;  it  made  her  self-conscious  ;  she 
could  not  understand  what  it  meant,  and  lingered,  thinking 
he  had  something  else  to  say. 

"  Your  presence  will  be  a  great  comfort,"  he  continued  ; 


IVOKS.  143 

"  Mrs.  Graham  has  been  wanting  you  sadly.  Shall  you  be 
ready  directly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  one  instant.  I  will  give  directions  to  Annette, 
and  she  will  take  care  of  everything  for  me,  and  then  I  will 
say  good-bye  to  Helen." 

Claude's  countenance  changed ;  he  tried  to  speak  and 
failed. 

"  Ought  I  not  to  wait  even  for  that  ?  Have  you  kept 
anything  back  from  me  ?  "  exclaimed  Susan. 

"  Nothing,  nothino- 1 "  He  walked  towards  the  window 
that  his  face  might  not  be  seen,  and  Susan  dar  :d  not  ask  him 
another  question.  She  went  to  her.  room,  rang  for  Annette, 
and  gave  her  directions,  and  inquired  if  Miss  Clare  was  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"  In  the  boudoir,  I  believe,  mademoiselle  ;  and  I  think 
there  is  a  visitor  there."  Annette  had  her  own  suspicions, 
but  she  would  not  betray  them. 

"  Then  ask  if  she  can  see  me  for  one  moment ;  tell  her  I 
am  going  home  ;  that  Admiral  Clare  is  very  ill."  Susan 
followed  Annette  down  the  stairs,  and  waited  in  the  lobby. 
She  heard  voices  ;  Captain  Mordaunt's  was  easily  recognised  ; 
its  tones  were  eager.  "What  Helen  replied  was  inaudible, 
but  she  came  out  looking  flushed  and  confused  ;  she  scarcely 
seemed  to  understand  what  Susan  said. 

"  Going,  are  you,  dearest  ?  so  suddenly  !  I  am  so  sorry. 
]5ut  you  will  come  back  again  ?  the  Admiral  will  soon  be 
better." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  won't  be  able  to  spare  me  again,  dear 
Helen  ;  and  you  will  be  leaving  London  soon." 

"  I  don't  know.  Did  you  leave  Mamma  at  church  ?  Is 
she  coming  back  ?  Shall  you  take  the  carriage  ?  I  think  I 
am  quite  bewildered  by  these  changes."  And  Eelen  pressed 
her  hand  across  her  brow. 

The  footman  came  up  the  stairs.     "  1  am  desired   to  say, 


144  IVORS. 

ma'am,  that,  if  you  don't  go  at  once,  there  won't  be  time  to 
take  you  to  Cavendish  Square,  and  to  return  for  my  lady." 

"  I  must  go,  Helen,  dearest ;  one  word  only,  don't  be 
led." 

Helen's  laugh  was  sharp  and  grating ;  she  made  no 
answer. 

"  Hark  !  there  is  Mr.  Eijerton's  voice :  he  is  waiting  : 
dearest,  good-bye." 

The  touch  of  that  icy  clammy  hand  which  was  laid  in 
hers  !  Susan  never  forgot  it.  She  ran  down  stairs  ;  and 
Helen  stood  at  the  top  and  watched  Claude  come  out  of  the 
study  and  take  Susan  to  the  carriage,  saying  kind,  gentle 
words  of  comfort.  A  cloud  of  intense,  irrepressible  agony 
passed  across  her  face,  and  her  fingers  were  laid  on  the 
handle  of  the  boudoir  door.  Yet  she  lingered.  The  lock 
was  moved  involuntarily,  and  the  slight  sound  decided  her. 
She  entered',  and  before  the  interview  ended  she  was  engaged 
to  Captain  Mordaunt. 


CHAPTER    LXI. 

Claude  talked  a  good  deal  during  that  short  drive ;  it 
seemed  that  he  feared  to  trust  himself  with  silence.  He 
gave  Susan  details  of  the  Admiral's  illness,  anticipated  her 
questions,  and  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  everything  which 
interested  her..  She  became  more  uneasy  as  symptoms  were 
disclosed  which  her  mother  had  kept  from  her,  and  the  hys- 
terical choking  feeling  which  had  before  overpowered  her 
returned  again ;  but  she  controlled  it,  and  talked  quietly 
and  with  more  unreserve  than  was  her  wont.  She  felt  relief 
in  being  able  to  say  what  was  in  her  mind  to  one  who  could 


iyors.  145 

understand ;  and  Claude,  as  be  listened  to  her,  found  repose 
in  the  deep,  yet  unescited  feeling,  which  she  expressed. 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  for  me,"  said 
Susan,  as  they  reached  Cavendish  Square.  She  half  put 
out  her  hand  to  him,  and  then  drew  it  back  again.  But  he 
took  it  cordially,  and  answered, 

<;  I  have  to  thank  you.  It  has  been  a  comfort ;  it  is 
always  a  great  pleasure  to  do  anything  for  you.  I  hope  you 
think  that."  Susan's  colour  came  and  went  quickly ;  she 
hurried"  away  from  him.  Claude's  eye  followed  her  as  she 
went  up  stairs. 

She  was  not  Helen  ;  but  she  had  given  him  what  Helen 
never  could — rest. 

That  evening  Susan  sat  beside  the  Admiral's  bed,  her 
hand  laid  upon  the  coverlid,  and  his  resting  upon  it ;  his 
fingers  every  now  and  then  moving,  as  though  he  would  con- 
vince himself  by  touch  that  she  was  still  there.  She  was 
telling  him  about  her  visit,  talking  to  him  of  Helen  and  Lady 
Augusta.  He  listened,  not  perhaps  with  pleasure,  for  the 
old  associations  aroused  something  like  irritable  feelings, 
yet  with  interest,  and  some  satisfaction  in  the  confession  of 
his  own  repentance.  It  was  more  unreserved  to  Susan  than 
it  had  been  to  her  mother.  He  said  that  it  humbled  him  to 
think  how  uncharitable  he  had  been ;  he  had  indulged  the 
feeling  against  his  better  conscience  ;  people  little  knew  how 
the  hard  words,  said  perhaps  with  half  the  hard .  meaning 
put  upon  them,  would  rise  up  on  a  death-bed.  Probably  he 
should  never  see  Helen  again,  but  he  begged  Susan  to  give 
his  love  to  her.  "  I  can  say  that  truly  now,"  he  added. 
"  When  the  world's  troubles  are  coming  to  a  close,  the 
world's  dislikes  die;  ami  she's  not  likely  to  stand  in  your 
way,  my  little  one;  that's  a  human  thought,  but  it's  a  great 
help."  " 


140  IVORS. 

"  I  don't  understand ;  Helen  never  did  stand  in  my 
way,"  said  Susan. 

"  Not  that  you  saw,  my  child,  you  were  too  innocent ; 
hut  we  must  n't  talk  about  that.  Where's  Claude.  Can't 
you  all  come  in  for  prayers  before  he  goes  to  the  House  ;  and 
then  I  should  feel  ready  for  the  night." 

"  Mr.  Egerton  is  with  mamma,  I  think,  and  she  is  writ- 
ing  a  note  to  the  Rector,  as  you  wished,  to  ask  if  he  can  ar- 
range about  to-morrow  for  the  Holy  Communion." 

"  Ah  !  yes  ;  all  well.  I  can  wait !  "  The  Admiral's 
head  sank  back  on  his  pillow.  Presently  he  said,  "  If  it  had 
been  God's  will,  I  should  have  been  glad  to  see  you  happy, 
my  pretty  one ;  but  since  it's  not,  I  don't  complain.  Only 
if  the  time  comes,  you'll  think  of  me." 

"  I  am  happy,"  said  Susan ;  "  I  should  be,  that  is,  if  you 
were  better." 

"  No  cause  to  let  that  disturb  your  happiness,  child. 
The  '  peace  that  passeth  understanding '  is  better  than 
earth's  joy.  "But  life  is  before  you,  Susan,  and  I  pray  God 
to  bless  it  for  you." 

"  In  His  way,"  said  Susan,  earnestly. 

"Yes;  you  are  right,  you  are  right — in  His  way ;  but 
that's  a  hard  way  sometimes." 

"  Still  if  it  has  His  blessing "  began  Susan. 

"  It  must  be  well  in  the  end.  You  feel  that,  do  you?  " 
He  looked  at  her  intently,  turning  his  head  to  read  more  in 
the  answer  than  the  words  would  convey. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  Susan;  "  but  I  have  had  very  little 
trial." 

"  It  will  come,"  he  continued,  "  sooner  or  later,  in  some 
form  or  other ;  but  bear  up  bravely,  my  child.  Each  day 
has  its  own  sorrow,  but  each  day  has  also  its  own  strength ; 
and  as  we  draw  nearer  the  close  of  our  journey,  the  sorrow 
decreases  and  the  strength  increases.     It  is  a  pleasant  thing, 


Ivors.  147 

Susan,  to  stand  at  the  foot  of  the  great  hill  of  life,  and  feel 
that  we  are  mounting  to  the  top  :  and  it  is  sobering  and  very 
solemn  to  rest  there  when  we've  reached  it,  and  look  down 
upon  the  path  by  which  we  are  to  descend,  with  the  grave 
bounding  our  view,  and  never  from  that  time  to  be  lost  to 
sight.  But  the  upward  journey  is  slow  and  toilsome ;  the 
downward,  rapid  and  easy.  Whatever  your  burden  may  be 
in  the  upward  way,  my  child,  cast  it  upon  God,  and  He  will 
aid  you  to  bear  it ;  and  when  the  downward  path  begins, 
you  will;  through  His  Grace,  cease  to  feel  its  weight.  But 
I  don't  know  why  I  go  off  in  this  strain,"  he  added,  check- 
ing himself.  "  I  always  want  to  talk  of  bright  things  to 
you,  Susan,  but  somehow  the  thoughts  wander  off  into  sad- 
ness.    Can't  you  call  Claude  now  ?     I'm  getting  tired." 

They  came — Claude,  Mrs.  Graham,  Isabella,  and  Anna 
— and  knelt  with  Susan  around  the  bed.  Claude  came 
nearest  to  the  Admiral  that  he  might  hear  the  prayers,  and 
the  old  man  beckoned  to  Susan,  and  made  her  kneel  nest. 
His  eye  rested  upon  them  with  a  lingering  gaze  of  indescrib- 
able, longing  affection,  whilst  Claude  waited  to  begin;  and 
then,  making  a  sudden  effort,  he  folded  his  hands,  and  said, 
"  Now  I  am  ready."  And  Claude  read  the  evening  prayers 
to  which  he  was  accustomed.  The  Admiral  followed  them, 
half  aloud,  till  towards  the  end,  when  his  voice  failed. 
Claude  looked  up  alarmed,  but  the  Admiral  motioned  to 
him  to  go  on.  At  the  close  lie  stretched  out  his  hand  feebly, 
and  touched  Claude,  and  murmured  Susan's  name. 

"  "We  are  both  here,  dear  sir,"  said  Claude;  and  Susan 
approached  and  put  her  hand  within  that  of  the  Admiral. 

"Both,"  murmured  the  old  man.  He  felt  for  Claude's 
hand,  and  joined  it  with  Susan's.  "  Be  kind  to  her,  Claude  ; 
be  kind." 

They  were  the  last  words  he, spoke.  Another  fainting 
fit  came  on,  from  which  he  never  entirely  rallied,  and  before 
midnight, — Admiral  Clare  was  dead. 


148  Ivors. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

Susan  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  next  day  lying  upon  the 
sofa  in  the  dark,  desolate  drawing-room  •  desolate,  not  be- 
cause it  was  changed  in  its  outward  appearance,  but  because 
the  spirit  which  had  filled  it  was  fled.  She  was  ill ;  the 
shock  had  come  upon  her  very  suddenly.  The  love  of  the 
aged  is  a  less  exciting,  but  perhaps  a  prouder  possession  than 
the  affection  of  the  young ;  it  calls  forth  all  our  best  feel- 
ings ;  it  is  nourished  by  reverence,  humility,  and  unselfish- 
ness. There  had  been  but  little  romance  in  Susan's  life,  so 
the  world  would  have  said ;  but  there  is  romance  in  every 
pure  and  holy  affection,  and  Susan's  daily  work  had  been 
refined  and  ennobled  by  the  consciousness  that  all  which  she 
did,  though  possessing  no  intrinsic  value,  was  precious  in  the 
old  man's  sight  as  the  living  memory  of  his  youth.  The 
feeling  was  gone  now ;  she  had  one  interest  less  in  life,  one 
person  less  for  whom  lovingly  to  sacrifice  ln;r  own  will,  and 
that  is  a  great  loss  to  the  affectionate  and  the  unselfish.  But 
she  was  not  miserable,  as  she  expected  to  be.  She  had  given 
way,  in  momentary  physical  weakness,  to  a  passionate  burst 
of  sorrow,  but  now  she  was  calm  again  ;  more  than  calm — 
peaceful  and  hopeful.  Mrs.  Graham  and  Claude  were  busy. 
They  had  arrangements  to  make,  painful,  and  admitting  of 
no  delay.  Anna  was  her  mother's  right  hand,  and  Isabella 
was  occupied  in  writing  letters.  At  another  time  Susan 
would  have  been  fretted  by  the  thought  that  others  were 
exerting  themselves  without  her ;  but  the  shock  upon  her 
nerves  had  destroyed  this  longing  for  activity.  She  was 
told  that  it  was  her  duty  to  be  quiet,  and  she  acquiesced 
without  remonstrance.  All  that  she  now  needed  was  to  lie 
in  the  dark   room,  and  dream  over  the  closing  moments  of 


ivors.  149 

the  Admiral's  consciousness — dream  of  tliem,  dwell  upon 
them,  with  intense  love,  with  bitter  regret ;  yet  with  an  un- 
der-current of  happier  feeling,  indefinite,  unrealised.  Was 
it  faith  ?  was  it  the  thought  that  the  labour  of  life  was  over, 
and  he  whom  she  loved  was  at  rest  ? 

Alas,  for  the  deceitfulness  of  the  human  heart ! 

Some  one  entered  the  drawing-rooin.  Susan  started  up, 
but  she  felt  weak  and  dizzy,  and  her  head  sank  back  again 
upon  the  cushion.  She  was  vexed  with  herself,  but  she 
could  only  lie  quite  still,  and  resolve  to  speak  as  though 
nothing  was  the  matter. 

Claude  drew  near  the  sofa,  and  Susan  made  another 
unavailing  attempt  to  sit  up,  and  then  smiled,  and  said  it 
was  no  use,  she  must  consent  to  be  good  for  nothing ;  but  it 
was  very  trying. 

Claude  paused  before  he  replied.  Susan  could  not  clearly 
distinguish  his  face  in  the  imperfect  light;  but  he  sat  down 
wearily. 

'•  Mamma  will  wear  herself  out,  I  am  afraid,"  observed 
Susan ;   "  it  seems  hard  not  to  be  able  to  help  her." 

"  But  you  must  not  try  yet.  I  hope  you  won't  think  of 
it,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  what  we  thought 
of  doing,  if  it  would  not  worry  you.  You  are  sure,  quite 
sure  you  would  not  rather  be  left  alone  ?  " 

Susan  heard  his  voice  tremble,  and  her  own  heart 
throbbed  so  painfully  that  she  could  scarcely  answer  intelli- 
gibly :  "  Thank  you  :  you  are  very  kind  to  remember  me." 

He  interrupted  her.  "Don't  tell  me  I  am  kind  ;  all  I 
can  do  is  nothing.  If  you  would  only  let  me  be  of  service 
t()  vou — now,  always.  Mrs.  Graham  talks  of  going  back  to 
Wingfield  Immediately.  You  won't  regret  that,  though  1 
may." 

"  l>ut  you  will  come  to  the  Lodge,"  said  Susan.     It  was 
an  unfortunate  remark,  made  only  because  it  had  sugge 
itself  as  something  to  be  said 


150  IVORS. 

Poor  Claude's  firmness  gave  way.  He  rose  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  room ;  then  came  again  to  the  sofa,  and 
said,  "  I  must  go  to-morrow ;  the  funeral  is  to  be  there.  I 
must  wait  to  see  the  relations ;  then  my  connection  with  the 
Lodge,  and  Wingfield,  and  with  all  that  part  of  the  country 
will  be  at  an  end." 

It  was  as  though  Susan's  heart  had  been  touched  by  ice, 
such  a  cold  chill  passed  through  her. 

"  Mrs.  Graham  has  promised  to  write  to  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, more  cheerfully ;  "  and  I  hope  she  will  let  Charlie 
pay  me  a  visit  at  Helmsley,  some  day." 

"  He  will  be  very  glad,  I  am  sure,"  said  Susan.  Her 
voice  was  cold ;  Claude  noticed  it. 

"  I  can  never  express  what  I  feel,"  he  said.  "  "VVhenevei 
I  try,  I  fail ;  but  we  have  had  such  deep  feelings  in  common, 
I  don't  think  we  can  ever  meet  as  strangers,  however  long 
our  separation  may  be.  I  can  answer  for  myself,  at  least — 
I  shall  never  forget." 

"  Neither  shall  we,"  said  Susan,  and  the  words  were 
spoken  timidly,  but  the  tone  came  from  her  heart. 

"  Shall  it  be  a  compact  ?  "  said  Claude,  and  he  offered 
her  his  hand.  Susan  placed  hers  within  it,  yet  scarcely  re- 
turned the  cordial  affectionate  pressure. 

"  Thank  you  for  allowing  me  to  be  your  friend,"  he 
said. 

"  You  have  been  so  without  my  permission,"  she  replied. 

"  Not  as  I  could  wish.  Promise  me  you  will  tell  me  if 
in  any  way  I  can  be  of  service  to  you." 

"  If  you  will  promise  the  same." 

"  You  might  be ;  yes,  I  think  you  might,"  he  exclaimed 
with  an  eager  impulse ;  but  a  change  followed  instantaneously. 
"  Yet  it  is  too  late ;  forgive  me  for  disturbing  you,"  and  with 
another  hasty  pressure  of  the  hand,  he  left  her. 

Mrs.  Graham  went  into   Susan's  room   late  that  night  to 


IVORS.  151 

see  if  she  was  asleep.  She  had  been  sitting  up  herself  talk- 
ing.for  some  time  to  Claude.  And  Susan  knew  this,  for  she 
had  heard  their  voices  in  the  room  below  hers,  and  knew 
when  Claude  said  good  night,  and  followed  his  step  through 
the  hall,  and  heard  him  shut  the  front  door ;  and  still  fancied 
that  she  was  listening  to  his  footsteps  beneath  her  window, 
but  that  was  only  imagination. 

Her  mother  came  in  very  quietly,  but  Susan  spoke  and 
inquired  if  it  was  late. 

"  Not  very,  my  love  ;  but  I  hoped  you  would  have  been 
asleep." 

"  I  can't  sleep,  mamma  ;  I  think  of  so  many  things  ;  I 
heard  the  voices  down  stairs,"  she  added. 

"  Claude  is  but  just  gone.  Poor  fellow  !  he  is  so  terribly 
lonely  now,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do  for  him.  I  am 
afraid  it  will  even  be  worse  for  him  by  and  by  than  it  is 
now." 

"  Mamma,  you  are  tired  and  worn  out,  you  are  thinking 
of  everyone  but  yourself,"  exclaimed  Susan.  "  And  yet  you 
must  be  the  most  unhappy." 

"  I  can  keep  up,  my  love,  for  the  present,  and  there  is  no 
support  like  that  of  thinking  for  others.  I  must  do  that 
now.  Can  you  t^ll  me,  Susan,  anything  about  Helen  and  this 
reported  engagement  with  Captain  Mordauut?  Don't  if  it 
involves  any  breach  of  confidence." 

"Helen!"  repeated  Susan,  in  a  tone  of  surprise;  "I 
don't  know  :  she  never  tells  me  anything.  Mamma,  will  Mr. 
Egerton  travel  with  us  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  will  go  later,  though  I  can't  bear  his  being 
left  alone  as  he  must  be ;  and  he  distresses  himself  about 
Helen." 

Mrs.  Graham  waited  for  a  remark  in  reply,  but  it  did  not 
come. 

She  drew  a  chair  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  as   she   sat 


152  ivoks. 

down  Susan  threw  her  arms  round  her  and  kissed  her,  and 
murmured  "  My  own,  sweet  mother  !  "  She  had  no  power 
to  say  more ;  and  the  touch  of  her  parched  lips  sent  a  pang 
to  her  mother's  heart. 

"  You  had  better  sleep,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  ; 
"  we  will  talk  of  this  to-morrow.  I  only  wanted,  if  I  could, 
to  satisfy  poor  Claude.  He  is  so  sure  that  Helen  is  en- 
£ao;ed." 

"  "Will  he  care  ?  "  asked  Susan,  and  her  voice  sounded 
changed  and  hollow. 

"  He  thinks  Captain  Mordaunt  unworthy  of  her,  and  he 
has  proof  of  it.  A  gossiping  letter  from  Madame  Ilein- 
hard  to  the  Baroness  d'Olban  has  fallen  into  his  hands, 
which  corroborates  some  disagreeable  reports  he  has  heard 
at  his  Club.  Captain  Mordaunt  has  been  making  so  sure 
of  having  Helen  at  any  moment,  that  he  has  even  laid  bets 
upon  the  subject.  If  Helen  knew  this  she  would  be  intensely 
angry,  but  the  difficulty  is  how  to  let  her  know  it.  If  Lady 
Augusta  is  told,  she  will  interfere  just  in  the  way  to  exas- 
perate Helen,  and  induce  her  to  marry  Captain  Mordaunt ;  if 
Sir  Henry  is  told,  he  will  give  the  affair  into  Lady  Augusta's 
management.  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done  ;  and  if  Helen 
is  really  engaged,  the  affair  becomes  very  complicated  and 
awkward." 

"I — I "  Susan  struggled  for   breath;  her   mother 

gave  her  some  water,  and  raised  her  pillow,  and  in  a  trem- 
bling voice  she  said,  "  Helen  was  not  engaged  when  I  left 
her  to-day."     Turning  her  head  aside  she  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  you  for  that  shadow  of  comfort,  at  least,  my 
darling,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  ;  "  I  will  let  Claude  know  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning." 

Susan's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  from  them,  and 
underneath  the  coverlid  her  hands  were  tightly  clenched  to- 
gether with  a  pressure  which  at  any  other  moment  must  have 
been  real  suffering. 


ivoes.  153 

Once  more  she  felt  her  mother's  kiss  upon  her  forehead, 
and  Mrs.  Graham  stood  by  her  and  looked  at  her  anxiously, 
but  she  did  not  speak  again.  Sleep  seemed  to  be  stealing 
over  her  ;  and  at  length,  as  minutes  passed  on  and  still  she 
did  not  move,  Mrs.  Graham's  uneasiness  lessened,  and  she 
left  her. 

But  sleep  came  not  to  Susan.  Feverish,  restless,  a  weight 
on  her  heart,  tumultuous  thoughts  thronging  her  brain,  a 
sense  of  sin  on  her  conscience,  where  could  the  weary  heart 
find  rest^?  Claude's  anxiety  for  Helen — what  mattered  it 
to  her  ?  Why  did  the  mere  sound  of  their  names,  when 
coupled  together,  strike  her  as  with  the  sharp  thrust  of  a 
dagger  ?  Why  did  the  possibility  of  Helen's  being  actually 
engaged  to  Captain  Mordaunt  make  the  blood  rush  to  her 
heart  with  a  thrill  of  excitement,  only  to  end  in  the  depres- 
sion of  a  wretchedness  that  seemed  about  to  sink  her  to  the 
earth  ?  What  was  it  she  felt,  which  she  did  not  dare  own 
even  to  her  mother?  Susan  groaned  in  bitterness  of  heart, 
and  tried  to  pray,  and  felt  her  words  checked  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  some  unknown  yet  permitted  evil ;  and  then, 
iu  very  weariness,  said  that  she  would  think  no  more,  and 
strove  to  sleep  and  failed.  So  the  hours  of  darkness  passed, 
whilst  the  dim  light  burning  in  her  room  gave  a  new  and 
fearful  outline  to  every  well-known  object.  Occasionally  she 
started  at  the  sudden  cry  of  some  reveller  in  the  street,  or 
shuddered  as  a  faint  moaning  through  the  crevices  of  the  old 
walls  recalled  the  solemn  hours  of  watching,  and  the  last 
struggle  of  human  life.  And  before  the  first  glimmering  of 
dawn  stole  through  the  closed  shutters,  she  rose  and  went  to 
the  window,  and  sat  there  gazing  into  the  vacant  street,  lis- 
tening to  the  silence  of  the  great  city.  The  twilight  dawn 
awoke,  bringing  witli  it  a  dead  rumbling  sound.  Some  heavy 
cart  or  wagon  was  setting  forth  on  its  long  journey  into  the 
country,  and  rolled  heavily  along;   then  a  footstep  was  beard 


151  IVORS. 

on  the  pavement,  whilst  a  passenger  wended  his  way  slowly 
and  stealthily,  as  though  fearful  that  some  face  from  the 
closed  and  veiled  windows  would  look  forth  to  discover  the 
business  which  drew  him  forth  at  that  unwonted  hour.  At 
length  the  light  of  morning  made  its  way  through  the  murky 
haze  which  shut  out  the  sky ;  and  with  it  came  lighter  sounds 
of  market-carts,  and  cabs  driving  up  to  their  station ;  and 
passengers  passed  more  frequently,  and  men  stopped  and 
greeted  each  other  beneath  the  window.  And  when  the  great 
current  of  London  life  was  once  more  flowing  on  in  its  full  and 
wondrous  vigour,  Susan,  utterly  exhausted,  crept  to  her  bed, 
aud  fell  asleep  ;  the  striking  of  the  clock  from  the  churches 
in  the  vicinity,  mingling  with  her  last  waking  thoughts,  and 
seeming  to  echo  in  her  ears,  "  Be  kind  to  her,  Claude  ;  be 
kind." 

She  slept,  and  her  dreams  were  troubled.  She  was  in  a 
vast  church ;  crowds  filled  it,  familiar  forms  glided  in  and 
out  amongst  the  tall  pillars,  and  before  the  altar  stood  Claude 
with  Helen  by  his  side — lovely  in  her  bridal  dress,  yet  with 
a  luok  of  trouble  on  her  brow.  And  then  it  was  all  changed, 
and  it  was  Susan  herself  who  knelt  by  Claude,  and  felt  his 
hand  clasping  hers,  icy  as  though  it  had  been  with  the  touch 
of  death  ;  and  again  all  was  dark,  confused,  and  a  deep  pit 
had  opened  before  her,  and  Claude  was  leading  her  to  the 
brink,  and  bidding  her  look  in,  for  Helen  lay  there.  She 
started,  aud  awoke  to  hear  her  mother's  sweet  voice  ask- 
ing if  she  felt  able  to  rise  ;  and  with  the  half-consciousness 
of  those  first  waking  moments,  Susan  clung  to  Mrs.  Graham, 
and  murmured,  "Keep  me,  mamma;  don't  let  me  dream 
again.     I  am  wicked  in  my  dreams  ;  keep  me." 


ivors.  155 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

Mrs.  Graham  -was  to  leave  London  at  twelve ;  but  Claude 
was  to  go  down  to  the  Lodge  by  a  night  train,  make  what- 
ever arrangements  might  be  needful  there,  and  return  to 
London  the  following  day.  He  was  at  Cavendish  Square  in 
time  for  breakfast.  Susan  was  down  stairs  There  was  no 
agitation^  now ;  nothing  but  that  composed  self-possession 
which  might  have  been  called  stoicism.  Neither  did  she 
seem  ill  or  over  tired,  her  usual  powers  of  judging  and  act- 
ing for  every  one  seemed  restored  to  her ;  and  even  her 
mother  forgot  to  remind  her  not  to  do  too  much. 

Claude  talked  to  her  a  good  deal,  and  consulted  her.  No 
allusion  was  made  to  anything  but  immediate  questions  of 
business,  not  even  to  the  griff  which  every  one  shared.  The 
world's  necessities  had  for  the  hour  closed  upon  all  that  deep 
underlying  sorrow,  a  strong  power  kept  it  down  ;  only  now 
and  then  one  might  be  seen  to  steal  apart  from  the  rest,  and 
stand  in  silent  thought,  or  perhaps  dash  away  a  rising  tear, 
but  no  one  dared  give  way. 

"  Half-past  eleven  !  "  said  Mrs.  Graham,  taking  out  her 
watch,  and  then  glancing  round  the  deserted  rooms. 

"  The  carriage  is  just  come,"  said  Claude.  "  You  will 
have  plenty  of  time." 

"  Isabella  is  late  as  usual,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  Susan, 
my  love,  go  and  call  her,  will  you  ?  " 

Susan  went,  and  returned  with  a  report  that  Isabella  was 
in  distress  about  her  desk  and  portfolio ;  she  could  not  find 
room  for  them. 

"  And  her  trunk  is  not  fastened  then  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham, looking  very  vexed.  "  We  shall  certainly  be  late.  She 
must  come  and  leave  it." 


15G  ivors. 

But  Susan  brought  back  another  message.  Isabella  did 
not  like  to  leave  her  treasures  to  any  care  but  her  own.  If 
she  mi<dit  be  allowed  to  wait  and  see  her  trunk  corded,  and 
follow  in  the  cab,  it  would  be  all  right.  She  and  Martha 
might  go  together. 

"  I  can't  allow  that.  Isabella  must  come  with  me,  and 
Martha  will  see  to  everything,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Martha  will  be  sure  to  be  late,  if  she  is  left  alone," 
said  Anna. 

"  Let  me  stay,  mamma,"  said  Susan.  You  can  trust 
me  to  be  in  time ;  and  Barnes  will  help  me  in  anything 
there  may  be  to  be  done,  and  he  will  come  with  us  to  the 
station.     We  shall  be  there  nearly  as  soon  as  you." 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  very  doubtful. 

"  It  is  the  best  plan,"  said  Claude.  "  Miss  Graham,  I 
know,  is  always  punctual;  and  we  shall  have  time  to  get  the 
tickets,  and  see  to  the  rest  of  the  luggage,  if  we  start  at 
once." 

"  I  don't  like  leaving  Susan ;  she  is  not  well  enough  to 
have  anything  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

Claude  looked  up  quickly.  "  Not  well  ?  I  am  so  very 
sorry.     Are  you  really  not  well  ?  " 

"  Quite,  thank  you,"  said  Susan,  shortly.     "  Manmia,  in 
deed  you  must  consent." 

"  You  and  Isabella — I  don't  like  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  Barnes,  dearest  mother.  You  will  see  us  following 
you  before  you  have  turned  the  corner."  Susan  put  her 
mother's  shawl  round  her,  and  gave  her  her  carriage  bag. 

Barnes  came  in  to  hasten  them.  The  carriage  was  pack- 
ed, and  they  had  no  time  to  lose. 

"  And  there  is  the  cab  ready,  too,"  said  Anna.  "  Never 
mind  Isabella's  fidgets,  Susan.  She  must  carry  her  desk  in 
her  hand." 

Mrs.  Graham  went  into  the  hall.  She  could  not  bear  to 
be  seen  as  she  said  good-bye  to  the  servants. 


IVORS.  157 

Claude  turned  to  Susan.  "  It  troubles  me  to  think  you 
are  ill ;  }-ou  must  give  yourself  rest  when  you  reach  home." 

Susan  tried  to  speak  and  smile,  but  tears  came  instead. 
He  held  her  hand  so  kindly,  almost  tenderly;  it  seemed  as 
though  he  longed  to  give  way  to  some  pent-up  feelings.  And 
then  he  tore  himself  from  her;  and  she  watched  him  as  he 
handed  her  mother  and  Anna  into  the  carriage,  and  turned 
back  to  the  dark  room,  and  felt  as  though  it  were  flooded 
with  sunshine. 

The.  carriage  drove  off.  and  Susan  went  up  stairs.  The 
trunk  was  still  open,  the  housemaid  and  Isabella  were  vainly 
trying  to  close  it.  Isabella  was  nearly  crying ;  her  spirits 
often  gave  way  under  pressure.  She  yielded  at  once, 
however,  to  Susan,  who  insisted  that  the  trunk  should  be 
fastened  directly,  and  the  writing-desk  left  as  a  separate 
parcel.  But  then  the  key  of  the  trunk  was  missing ;  and 
some  little  time  was  spent  in  searching  for  it ;  and  when  it 
was  found  and  the  bos  corded,  and  carried  down  stairs,  the 
blotting  book,  as  well  as  the  writing-desk,  was  seen  lying  on 
the  table.  That  completely  overcame  Isabella,  she  could 
not  imagine  what  to  do  with  it  ;  and  her  mamma  disliked 
having  so  many  parcels.  She  might  have  remained  ponder- 
ing the  difficulty  f}r  many  precious  minutes,  but  that  Susan 
cpuietly  decided  the  point,  by  taking  the  unfortunate  c:iuso 
of  offence  under  her  own  charge.  Barnes  was  visihly  im- 
patient, and  gave  his  directions  in  a  loud  voice  to  the  cab- 
man, to  drive  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  take  the  shortest  way. 
The  latter  injunction  was  unfortunate;  the  shortest  way  was 
through  a  crowded  thoroughfare,  and  a  heavy  dray  and  an 
omnibus  blocked  up  the  passage.  Barnes  scolded  ;  the  cab- 
man-shouted; the  omnibus  driver  returned  a  volley  of  abuse. 
"When  at  last  the  cab  emerged  from  tin-  scene  of  confusion, 
Susan  looked  at  her  watch,  but  made  no  remark. 

"Just  in  time,  I  declare,"  said  Isabella,  as  they  stood 


158  IVORS. 

upon  the  platform  of  tlie  railway  station ;  "  and  there  is 
mamma,  in  that  farthest  carriage  !  "  They  hurried  down  the 
line. 

"  It  moves,"  exclaimed  Susan. 

"  Just  off,  ma'am,"  said  a  railway  porter  at  her  side. 
And  the  train  rushed  away. 

Isabella  uttered  a  faint  scream.  Susan  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment confounded,  and  then  said:  "Mamma  saw  us,  so  she 
won't  be  anxious ;  we  must  go  by  the  next  train ;  "  and  she 
walked  towards  the  waiting-room. 

"I  am  very  sorry.  I  am  afraid  it  is  my  fault,"  began 
Isabella,  in  an  exculpatory  tone  ;  "  but  we  should  have  been 
cpuite  in  time,  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  dreadful  omnibus, 
and  the  dray.  What  will  mamma  say  ?  And  look,  there  is 
Mr.  Egerton." 

Susan  stopped  involuntarily. 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  see  us,"  said  Isabella  ;  and  Susan 
moved  on  a  few  steps,  but  slowly. 

Claude  was  looking  for  them.  He  came  up,  seeming 
much  more  vexed  than  Susan,  and  complaining  of  the  cab- 
man. 

"  It  is  my  fault,"  said  Isabella,  humbly. 

"  It  is  every  one's  fault,  and  no  one's,"  observed  Susan. 
"  There  is  no  good  in  thinking  about  it.  We  can  wait  here, 
very  well,  for  the  next  train,"  she  added,  addressing  Claude. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  don't  like  your  travelling  alone.  I  wish — 
if  I  had  only  known  it  before,  I  could  have  managed  to  go 
with  you." 

"  Two  ladies  can't  come  to  any  harm,"  said  Susan.  "  I 
don't  like  to  feel  so  dependent." 

"  No,  you  like  to  be  useful  always.  I  know  that.  If 
you  are  going  to  the  waiting-room,  you  must  let  me  get  you 
some  luncheon  first." 

,J  We  had  some  biscuits  before  we  came  away,"  said  Isa- 
bella.    "  I  don't  think  we  want  anything  more." 


IVORS.  150 

"  And  your  luggage  ?  " 

"  Barnes  has  taken  care  of  it.     He  will  be  here  a^ain  in 

O 

time  for  the  next  train." 

They  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  waiting-room. 

"  I  won't  trust  to  Barnes ;  I  will  come  back  for  you  my- 
self, before  the  train  starts,"  said  Claude. 

Isabella's  arm  was  within  that  of  her  sister's,  and  some 
sudden  movement  made  her  look  at  Susan,  and  ask  if  she 
was  tired. 

"  Only  a  little ;  we  had  better  go  in  and  sit  down."  She 
turned  to  Claude :  "  Thank  you  very  much  for  looking  after 
us,  but  don't  trouble  yourself  to  come  again.  Barnes  will 
do  very  well."' 

Claude  smiled.  "  I  shall  trouble  myself.  Four  o'clock, 
I  think.     Good-bye  till  then ;  "  and  he  walked  away. 

Isabella  made  Susan  lie  down  on  one  of  the  sofas ;  the 
room  was  empty,  and  the  quietness  was  a  luxury.  Susan 
closed  her  eyes,  and  Isabella  took  out  a  book,  thinking,  per- 
haps, she  would  fall  asleep.  But  if  she  did,  it  was  only  for 
a  moment,  and  she  started  up  almost  immediately,  asking  if 
it  was  time  to  move,  and  glancing  at  the  door  eagerly,  as 
though  expecting  some  one  to  enter.  Isabella  laughed  at 
her,  and  begged  her  to  lie  down  again ;  but  Susan  refused, 
and  said  she  would  write  a  note ; — she  had  not  said  good-bye 
to  Helen, — there  had  not  been  time,  and  it  would  seem  un- 
kind to  leave  London  without  a  word.  "I  may  use  your 
writing  things,  I  suppose?  "  she  added. 

Isabella  nodded  assent,  and  went  on  reading.  It  was  a 
1  nag  time  before  she  looked  up  again.  When  she  did,  it  was 
in  consequence  of  a  sound  of  rather  quick,  nervous  breathing. 
Several  people  were  in  the  room  now ;  she  did  not  know 
from  whence  it  came. 

"The  lady  is  not  very  well,  ma'am,  I  think,"  said  a  re- 
spectable-looking woman,  apparently  a  nurse,  who  was  stand- 


160  IVOKS. 

* 

ing  near  the  table  with  a  child  in  her  arms.  She  handed  a 
bottle  of  salts  to  Susan,  whose  face  was  very  pale.  Susan 
did  not  see  it,  she  beckoned  to  Isabella, — a  folded  paper  was 
in  her  hand.  "  Whose  is  this  ?  How  did  you  come  by  it  ?" 
she  asked,  anxiously,  but  cpuite  quietly. 

"  What  ?  I  don't  understand."  Isabella  took  the  paper 
from  her. 

"  I  found  it  in  the  blotting-book  accidentally,"  said  Susan; 
"  I  thought  it  belonged  to  myself, — I  did  not  read  it  all 
through.     Isabella,  what  does  it  mean, — is  it  yours  ?  " 

Isabella  rapidly  glanced  at  it,  and  a  look  of  extreme  per- 
plexity came  over  her  face,  followed  by  an  expression  of 
sudden  recollection.  "  Oh  !  I  remember, — yes, — there  is  no 
mystery,  only  I  have  been  careless.  Mamma  or  Mr.  Egerton 
must  have  left  it  in  the  dressing-room,  the  day  before  yester- 
day. I  put  it  away,  and  forgot  it.  What  makes  you  look 
so  strange,  Susan  ?  " 

"  Do  I  look  strange  ?  "     Susan  tried  to  smile. 

"  Yes,  is  it  about  the  letter  ?  it  seems  a  very  odd  one." 

"  Mr.  Errerton  left  it,  did  he  ?  "  asked  Susan. 

"He  may  have  done  it,  or  mamma,  I  can't  say.  I  saw 
there  was  something  in  it  about  Helen." 

Susan  kept  the  letter  in  her  hand,  but  without  looking  at 
it.  "  I  remember  now,"  continued  Isabella,  "  that  Mr.  Eger- 
ton came  back  into  the  dressing-room,  and  carried  away  an 
envelope  from  amongst  the  papers  near  my  writing-desk, — 
this  must  have  belonged  to  it." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

Isabella  returned  to  her  book,  Susan  took  up  a  pen, 
wrote  a  few  words,  and  laid  it  down  again.  The  room  was 
becoming  crowded,  for  another  train  was  going  off.  Isabel- 
la's attention  was  drawn  away  from  her  sister.  She  did  not 
see — no  one  saw  or  noticed- — the  change  in  Susan's  counte- 
nance,— the  look  of  intense  thought,  of  indecision,  then  of 


IVOKS.  161 

sudden  resolution,  and  again  of  doubt.  Susan's  mind  was  a 
chaos,  her  judgment  seemed  to  Lave  failed  her. 

The  paper — she  knew  well  what  it  was.  It  was  the  letter 
to  which  her  mother  had  referred, — which  would  prove 
Madame  Reinhard  to  be  insincere,  and  Captain  Mordaunt 
unworthy.  And  it  was  needful,  above  all  things,  that  Helen 
should  have  it  at  once;  the  delay  of  an  hour  might,  so 
Susan  believed,  be  of  consequence.  But  there  was  no  one  to 
take  it  or  send  it,  no  one  who  would  venture  to  interfere. 

Only.Susan  herself.  The  pulsation  of  her  heart  stopped 
for  an  instant,  as  the  thought  occurred  to  her,  and  then  it 
went  on  with  sickening  rapidity.  All  the  difficulties,  doubts, 
questionings,  attendant  upon  such  a  step,  thronged  upon  her ; 
she  had  not  time  to  disentangle  and  combat  with  them  sepa- 
rately. Minutes  were  hurrying  on ;  if  she  waited,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  go  to  Helen, — and  without  seeing  her,  inter- 
ference might  be  useless. 

Yet  Susan  could  not  resolve  at  once.  She  had  little 
doubt  of  her  mother's  approval,  of  Claude's  gratitude.  Her 
cousin  loved  and  trusted,  and  would  listen  to  her.  A  few 
words  from  her,  and  with  such  proof  before  her,  Helen  would 
be  safe  and  free.  But  it  was  the  suggestion  of  the  tempter 
which  whispered,  that  Helen's  freedom  might  be  her  own 
misery.  A  terrified  sense  of  weakness  for  one  moment  over- 
powered her,  the  next  she  went  up  to  her  sister. 

"Isabella,  I  have  something  very  much  on  my  mind  to 
say  to  Helen  ;  I  can't  write  it ;  I  must  sec  her.  You  will 
be  quite  safe  in  remaining  here,  and  I  shall  be  back  long  be- 
fore the  train  starts." 

Isabella  gazed  at  her  in  amazement,  "Going  to  Grosve- 
nor  Place  by  yourself  1     Susan,  you  air  mad  !  " 

"  Hush  !   hush  !  don't  keep  me,  I  must  go.      Minutes  are 

precious.     Stay  here  and  read."     Susan  attempted  to  smile. 

"Don't  look  at  me  in  that  strange  way.      I  know  what  I  am 

doinir." 

2t 


162  ivoes. 

"  But  I  will  go  with  you ;  I  can't  let  you  go  alone." 
Isabella  fastened  the  strings  of  her  bonnet. 

Susan  laid  her  hand  quietly  upon  Isabella's  arm ;  all  ex- 
citement of  manner  was  gone,  as  she  said :  "  I  am  doing 
what  mamma  would  wish,  and  I  am  going  alone.  If  Mr. 
Egerton  should  come,  tell  him — no,  don't  say  where  I  am 
gone,  only  that  I  had  thought  of  something  which  I  was 
obliged  to  do." 

Almost  before  Isabella  could  find  words  to  continue  her 
expostulation,  Susan  had  sent  a  porter  for  a  cab,  and  was  on 
her  way  to  Grosvenor  Place. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

That  afternoon  Lady  Augusta  Clare  sat  at  work  finishing 
her  altar-carpet.  A  very  complacent,  satisfied  smile  was  on 
her  lips.  She  looked  at  her  stitches  affectionately,  every 
now  and  then  held  them  at  a  little  distance  to  admire  their 
regularity,  whilst  occasionally  she  turned  the  pages  of  a 
volume  of  Thomas-a-Kempis,  red-lined,  and  bound  massively, 
vhich  lay  open  before  her. 

"Whether  Lady  Augusta's  unwonted  softness  add  serenity 
were  to  be  attributed  to  the  altar-carpet  or  the  devotional 
book,  might  have  been  doubtful.  Unkind  judges  probably 
would  have  said  that  they  were  due  to  neither,  for  certainly, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Helen  came  in,  Lady  Augusta's 
first  words  might  have  suggested  that  something  rather  more 
worldly  was  at  the  root  of  her  good  humour. 

"  My  dear  love,  I  have  been  longing  to  see  you  this  morn- 
ing. But  you  have  been  too  happy,  I  suppose,  to  think  of 
me.     Is  dear  Constantine  gone  ?  " 


IYOKS.  103 

"  Captain  Mordaunt  is  talking  to  papa  in  the  study,  I 
believe,"  said  Helen. 

Her  tone  betrayed  no  feeling  of  any  kind,  neither  did  her 
countenance. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  see  him  before  he  goes,"  said  Lady  Au- 
gusta; "I  have  some  plans  in  my  head,  which  will  please 
you,  my  darling." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Helen  ;  "  I  dare  say  they  will  do  very 
well." 

1  More  than  that,  I  trust.  Of  course  your  father  and  I 
wish  to  further  your  happiness  in  every  way.  You  can 
never  enjoy  yourself  younger." 

"  Never,"  said  Helen,  a  little  sarcastically. 

"  And  you  would  like  a  continental  tour  so  much,"  con- 
tinued Lady  Augusta.  "  We  are  quite  bent  upon  your  going 
abroad  after  your  wedding,  and  we  talk  of  following  you." 

Helen  could  with  difficulty  repress  an  exclamation  of 
disagreeable  surprise  ;  but  she  managed  to  say  that  it  might 
be  a  good  arrangement. 

"  It  will  give  us  the  opportunity  of  meeting  you  again 
sooner  than  we  otherwise  should,"  continued  Lady  Augusta; 
"  and  we  shall  long  to  do  that.  Maurice,  too,  may  be  able 
to  accompany  us,  if  we  wait  till  the  end  of  the  season.  I 
feel  sure  it  will  add  to  dear  Constantino's  pleasure  to  have 
him  with  him." 

Helen  was  silent. 

"  I  long  to  let  your  aunt  know  of  your  happiness,"  pur- 
sued Lady  Augusta.  "  She  will  feel  it  even  in  the  midst  of 
her  grief  for  the  dear  old  Admiral.  Ah!  how  quickly  he 
has  been  taken  from  us!  It  docs  not  do  to  set  our  hearts 
upon  anything  in  this  world  :  "  and  Lady  Augusta  worked 
two  stitches  in  her  carpet,  as  a  comment  upon  her  words. 

"  They  arc  to  leave  London  fco-day,"  said  lb  len,  shortly. 

"  So  I  understand.     Poor  Claudi  ;  no  doubtj  has  to  make 


1GJ:  IVOES. 

all  the  arrangements.  By-the-by,  my  love,  I  congratulate 
you  now  upon  all  awkwardness  being  over  between  you  and 
him.     You  will  meet  quite  upon  a  comfortable  footing." 

"  Quite,"  said  Helen.  She  turned  away  to  the  window, 
and,  without  looking  at  Lady  Augusta  again,  said,  "  I  have 
engaged  to  go  to  Richmond  this  afternoon ;  Madame  Rein- 
hard  will  be  with  me,  and  Captain  Mordaunt  will  drive  us." 

A  transient  cloud  of  surprise  came  over  Lady  Augusta's 
face  at  this  determined  assertion  of  an  independent  will;  but 
she  replied  most  amiably, — "  Just  as  you  like,  my  love. 
Under  the  circumstances,  you  will,  I  know,  wish  to  be  as 
much  as  possible  with  dear  Constantine." 

"  And  to-morrow  we  go  to  the  horticultural  fete,"  con- 
tinued Helen. 

"  Certainly,  my  love,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  And  perhaps  to  the  Duchess  of  Monteith's  soiree  after- 
wards," added  Helen. 

"  Quite  dissipated  !  "  said  Lady  Augusta,  in  her  sweetest 
tone.  "  And  such  a  change  !  "  she  added,  in  an  under  voice, 
though  loud  enough  for  Helen  to  hear ;  "  but  love  works 
wonders.  Did  dear  Constantine  tell  you  how  the  Earl  was 
to-day,  my  love  ?  " 

"  He  says  he  is  better,"  said  Helen,  bluntly.  "  The 
doctors  declare  he  may  live  years  yet." 

"  One  can  scarcely  wish  it,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  sighing; 
— "  such  a  suffering  life  as  he  has, — and  so  well  prepared ; — 
one  can't  help  feeling  it  would  be  a  happy  release." 

"  He  is  not  such  an  old  man,"  replied  Helen.  "  He  is 
fifteen  years  younger  than  the  Admiral." 

"  Constitution  makes  all  the  difference,"  said  Lady  Au- 
gusta ;  "  his  has  been  broken  for  years.  But,  speaking  of 
the  Admiral,  have  you  had  any  message  or  note  from  Susan 
to-day  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  few  lines  from  my  aunt  last  night,"  said  Helen, 


ivoks.  1G5 

— "  just  -wishing  me  good-bye.  Susan,  she  said,  was  not 
well  enough  to  write." 

Lady  Augusta  looked  as  though  she  expected  to  see  the 
note ;   but  Helen  made  no  offer  of  showing  it. 

"  Susan  will  feel  the  Admiral's  loss  severely,"  said  Lady 
Augusta,  "  unless  — —  has  it  struck  you  lately,  Helen,  that 
she  and  poor  Claude  have  been  very  much  together  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  them,"  was  Helen's  an- 
swer; and  she  moved  away  from  the  -window,  and  walked 
out  of  the  room,  slowly,  till  the  door  was  closed,  and  then 
rushed  up  the  stairs  to  her  own  apartment,  turned  the  bolt 
violently,  and  paced  her  chamber  in  a  storm  of  indignation. 

She  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  wisdom  of  her  decision  now. 
Live  with  Lady  Augusta  !  It  would  be  better  a  thousand 
times  to  marry  Captain  Mordaunt.  Penances  !  purgatory  ! 
■were  nothing  to  this  moral  torture.  Such  utter  ignorance 
of  her  feelings  ! — such  a  betrayal  of  double  motives  ! — hy- 
pocrisy— worldliness  !  Another  such  conversation,  and  she 
would  be  driven  frantic.  And  Helen,  in  her  excited  sensi- 
tiveness, walked  up  and  down,  believing  herself  a  martyr, 
and  stifling  any  uneasy  suggestions  of  conscience  as  to  her 
own  great  offences,  by  the  angry  consideration  of  Lady  Au- 
gusta's want  of  tact  and  good  feeling. 

Annette  knocked  at  the  door  twice  without  being  heard; 
the  third  time  she  was  answered  by  a  harsh,  "  Come  in;  " 
and,  when  she  entered,  stood  for  a  moment,  afraid  to  speak. 

That  was  often  the  case  now  :  the  bright  and  affectionate 
Helen  Clare  was  grievously  changed  of  late.  Few  dared  to 
interrupt  or  intrude  upon  her  unsummoned. 

"  Miss  Graham  in  the  drawing-room,  Mademoiselle," 
said  Annette,  whilst  she  glanced  doubtfully  at  Helen. 

Helen  turned  to  her  sharply.  "  Miss  Graham  !  You 
are  mistaken  ;   she  has  left  London."' 

" Pardon,  Mademoiselle!  she  is  wishing  to  speak  to  you; 


1G0  IVOES. 

she  begs  to  come  to  your  own  room ;  she  has  no  time  to 
spare." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  murmured  Helen  :  yet  she  went  up 
to  the  glass,  gazed  at  her  own  lovely  yet  haggard  face,  strove 
to  look  calm  and  unruffled,  and  again  said,  "  she  may  come." 
Annette  drew  near  cautiously.  "  Captain  Mordaunt, 
he  saw  me  in  the  corridor ;  he  gave  me  this  little  note, 
Mademoiselle.     He  returns  at  three  o'clock." 

Helen  would  not  take  the  note,  and  Annette  laid  it  on 
the  table.  It  was  unopened  until  Susan  was  heard  coming 
on  the  stairs ;  then  it  was  read  through  hastily,  and  thrown 
aside.  Helen  received  such  little  notes  now  at  all  hours  of 
the  day ;  it  was  Captain  Mordaunt's  fashion  of  showing  his 
tenderness. 

A  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  very  unlike  Annette's  quick 
demand  for  admission,  was  heard  by  Helen  directly.  Susan 
came  in,  without  haste  or  agitation, — without  even  saying 
that  she  had  but  a  few  minutes  to  spare.  There  was  that 
in  her  countenance  which  told  of  a  will  which  held  in  check 
every  feeling  of  womanish  nervousness  or  weakness, — a  self- 
control  so  great,  that  it  acted,  as  if  by  magic,  upon  Helen ; 
and  the  cousins  kissed  each  other  silently  and  tenderly;  and 
Susan  said  in  her  slow,  measured  voice,  "  I  have  come  to  you 
suddenly,  dear  Helen ;  but  I  was  not  able  to  write.  "We 
leave  London  at  four,  and  I  had  something  to  say  to  you  be- 
fore we  go." 

"  Anything  serious  ?  of  consequence  ?  "  exclaimed  Helen, 
whilst  the  excitable  spirit  flashed  in  her  quick,  dark  eyes. 

A  momentary  pause.  Then  Susan  said,  "  Helen,  are 
you  engaged  to  Captain  Mordaunt  ?  " 

She  asked  the  question  so  quietly,  that  Helen  could  not 
help  answering  it  in  the  same  tone.     "  Yes." 

A  momentary  feeling,  difficult  to  interpret,  might  have 
been  seen  on  Susan's  face.     She  sat  in  silent  thought. 


ivors.  167 

"  You  don't  like  it,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  wish  that  you  did  not,"  replied  Susan. 

"  It  is  freedom,"  said  Helen.  "  Susan,  you  won't  despise 
me  ?  "  and  she  leaned  her  head  upon  her  cousin's  shoulder, 
and  gave  way  to  a  flood  of  bitter  tears. 

Susan  allowed  the  tears  to  flow  for  some  moments;  and 
Helen  started  up  suddenly,  and  one  of  those  brilliant  smiles 
which  formed  the  peculiar  beauty  of  her  face  flashed  across 
it ;  but  it  ended  in  withering  sarcasm,  as  she  murmured,  "  I 
do  what  others  do  ;  it  is  all  a  lottery." 

"  It  is  certainly,  in  some  cases,"  said  Susan.  "  Helen,  if 
you  were  not  engaged,  I  would  kneel  to  you,  to  beg  you  to 
pause." 

Susan's  words  were  earnest,  but  her  tone  was  not.  Helen 
smiled,  as  she  said,  "  You  are  come  to  reason  with  me  from 
duty." 

"  Yes,  from  duty,"  repeated  Susan,  abstractedly. 

"  And  I  must  not  listen  to  you  from  duty,"  said  Helen. 
"It  is  too  late." 

Susan  was  silent. 

"  We  will  talk  of  something  else,"  said  Helen.  "  Tell 
me  about  your  mother." 

Susan's  hand  shook  as  she  opened  her  carriage  bag.  In- 
stead of  replying  to  Helen's  question,  she  put  a  paper  into 
her  hands. 

"I  don't  understand;  you  frighten  me,"  said  Helen, 
scarcely  looking  at  it. 

"  Will  you  read  it  ?  "  Susan  walked  to  the  further  end 
of  the  room,  and  stood  before  a  book-case  ;  but  she  sat  down 
again  soon,  for  her  knees  trembled. 

She  did  not  look  towards  Helen,  till  a  hand  was  pressed 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  a  hollow  voice  said,  with  a  harsh  :it- 
tempt  at  a  laugh,  "  This  is  an  absurdity.     \\'ln»s^  is  it,  ?  " 

"  Madame  Reinhard's,"  said  Susan  ;   "  you  see  her  signa 


1CS  IVOKS. 

ture ;  you  know  the  handwriting.  It  is  addressed,  as  you 
perceive,  to  the  Baroness  d'Olban." 

Helen  tossed  it  from  her,  scornfully.  "  Madame  Rein- 
hard  does  not  know  the  Baroness  ! "  Yet  she  took  up  the 
letter  again,  and  speaking  through  her  closed  lips,  said,  "  it 
is  a  good  imitation ;  a  clever  device  also.  So  it  is  said  that 
Captain  Mordaunt  has  done  me  the  honour  to  make  me  the 
subject  of  his  bets.  I  thank  you,  Susan,  much,  for  your  in- 
formation, but  the  matter  will  easily  be  set  at  rest.  Captain 
Mordaunt  will  soon  discover  the  writer ;  only  do  me  the 
favour  to  tell  me  how  the  precious  document  came  into  your 
possession." 

"  It  was  found  by  me  accidentally,"  said  Susan ;  "  but  it 

was "  she  stopped,  and  her  voice  trembled.     "  Helen, 

I  believe  Mr.  Egerton  knows  more  of  it  than  I  do." 

"  Claude  ! "  exclaimed  Helen,  indignantly.  "  Claude 
lend  himself  to  a  plot !  "  Her  eyes  flashed.  "  Susan,  if  he 
were  to  tell  me  so  himself,  I  would  not  believe  it." 

"  No  stratagem,  dearest  Helen,"  said  Susan;  and  as  she 
touched  her  cousin's  arm  kindly,  her  hand  was  shaken  off 
impatiently.  "  How  can  it  be  one  ?  and  why  should  Mr. 
Egerton  wish  to  interfere  ? "  She  spoke  the  last  words 
doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  why  should  he  wish  ?  "  repeated  Helen,  in  a  tone 
of  unutterable  mournfulness,  which  touched  a  chord  of  keen 
self-reproach  in  Susan's  heart.  She  went  on  eagerly  :  "  You 
were  right  in  coming,  Susan ;  it  shall  be  found  out.  Don't 
think  me  ungrateful;   it  shall  be  found  out." 

"  But  there  is  nothing  to  find,"  said  Susan,  quietly.  "  It 
is  true." 

Helen  laughed  satirically.  "  True,  that  Madame  Rein- 
hard  has  deceived  me  ;  has  told  falsehoods  ?  I  would  sooner 
believe  that  the  sun  had  ceased  to  shine  in  the  heavens ;  she 
does  not  know  the  Baroness.     And  for  Captain  Mordaunt,— 


IVORS.  169 

Susan,  -whatever  you  may  think  of  him,"  and  Helen  drew 
herself  up  proudly,  "  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"  Then  let  him  act  like  one,"  exclaimed  Susan.  "  Helen, 
dearest,  listen  to  me  but  for  one  moment ;  I  have  so  few  to 
spare.  It  is  true,  all  true ;  they  have  been  playing  with 
\  ou  ;  you  have  thrown  yourself  away ;  you  must  be  wretched. 
But  there  is  still  time.  Oh,  listen,  listen!  Claude  says  it; 
Claude  cares  about  it."  Susan's  '*one  grew  sharper,  more 
vehement ;  the  words  seemed  forced  from  her  as  she  uttered 
them,  and  still,  whilst  Helen  averted  her  face,  she  repeated, 
"  Claude  knows  all ;   Claude  would  give  worlds  to  save  you." 

Helen  turned  her  ghastly  countenance  towards  her  cou- 
sin.     "It  must  not  be  true  ;   Susan, — I  have  promised." 

"  But  draw  back." 

"  And  be  stamped  by  the  world  a  second  time  as  a  jilt," 
murmured  Helen  ;  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Looking  up  again  the  next  moment,  she  added,  eagerly, 
•■  But  it  is  not  true  ;  there  is  falsehood  on  the  face  of  it." 

"  Inquire,"  said  Susan.  "  Madame  Beinhard  will  tell 
you." 

"And  will  know  that  I  suspect  her  of  untruth,"  said 
Helen.  "  It  can't  be.  Susan,  you  mean  kindly.  Yet  see 
what  I  think."  She  was  about  to  tear  the  letter  in  pieces, 
but  Susan  caught  it  from  her. 

"  Think  what  you  will,  Helen;  but  you  have  no  right  to 
do  that.     Follow  your  fate,  if  you  choose." 

"  Not  if  I  choose,"  exclaimed  Helen,  interrupting  her, — 
"if  I  must." 

Her  mocking  laugh  thrilled  upon  Susan's  ears  with  a 
sense  of  terror.  She  seized  Helen's  hand,  and  her  tone  was 
tremulous  in  its  earnestness. 

"  Helen,  I  should  not  dare  to  speak,  if  I  were  not  sure 
that  Captain  Mordaunt  is  unworthy, — quite  sure.  Claude 
could  not  be  mistaken,  and  he   is  so  anxious,  so  miserable. 


170  IVOES. 

Only  inquire ;  ask,  for  Lis  sake,"  she   added,  in  a  changed 
and  hollow  voice. 

Helen  murmured  to  herself,  "  Not  for  his  sake,"  and 
Susan's  heart  bounded,  as  though  the  weight  of  worlds  had 
been  removed  from  it. 

"  Yon  think  me  weak  and  blind,"  continued  Helen, 
firmly.  "  I  am  neither.  What  I  have  chosen  to  do  I  have 
done  with  my  eyes  open.  For  this  miserable  document,  I 
neither  know,  nor  wish  to  know,  what  it  means.  It  is  suf- 
ficient evidence  against  it  that  it  professes  to  be  written  by 
Madame  Reinhard  to  the  Baroness  d'Olban,  and  that  its 
tone  shows  this  to  be  an  impossibility.  I  choose  to  trust 
my  friends,  and  I  will  inquire  no  further." 

Susan  walked  towards  the  door,  but  returned  suddenly. 
"  I  heard  Madame  Reiuhard's  voice  in  the  hall,  as  I  came  up 
the  stairs.  If  you  don't  choose  to  ask  her  yourself  if  the 
letter  is  hers,  you  can  have  no  objection  to  my  asking." 

"  I  have  ;  I  do  object,"  exclaimed  Helen,  vehemently. 
"  The  letter  is  a  disgrace,  a  libel.  I  don't  believe  it.  I 
won't  allow  Madame  Reinhard  to  be  insulted.  Susan,  in 
this  house,  you  would  not  dare  do  it." 

"  I  would  dare  do  any  thing  that  should  open  your  eyes,' 
replied  Susan.     "  Helen,  you  are  afraid." 

The  burning  colour  rushed  to  Helen's  cheek,  then  faded 
away,  and  left  them  colourless.     She  made  no  answer. 

Susan  put  her  hand  upon  the  bell.  "  Annette  will  ask 
Madame  Reinhard  to  come  to  us." 

Helen  sat  down,  clenching  tightly  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"  Madame  Reinhard  is  in  the  study,"  said  Susan,  as 
Annette  appeared  at  the  door.  "  Ask  her  if  she  will  have 
the  goodness  to  come  to  Miss  Clare's  room." 

"  It  is  your  doing,"  said  Helen  reproachfully. 

"  Mine  entirely.  "Wc  need  not  shrink  from  truth  !  " 
Yet  Susan,  while  she  said  the  words,  leaned  against  the  wall 
for  support. 


IVORS.  171 

"  Mcin  armcs  Kind  !  you  are  ill  then,"  was  Madame 
Reinhard's  exclamation,  as  she  rushed  into  the  room,  and 
threw  her  arms  round  Helen.  "  Why  did  you  not  send  me 
word  before  ?  why  keep  me  from  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  I  who  sent  the  message,"  said  Susan,  coming 
forward. 

Madame  Reinhard  started.  "  Ah  !  Miss  Graham  !  So 
surprised  I  am ;  so  little  expecting  the  honour,  the  pleasure. 
But  my  sweet  Helen,  she  is  quite  ill,  surely  ?  " 

Helen  looked  up  at  her,  smiled,  but  did  not  speak. 
Madame  Reinhard  appealed  to  Susan  for  an  explanation. 

"  Helen  has  been  fretted  this  morning,"  said  Susan,  and 
unconsciously  there  was  a  slight  bitterness  in  her  tone. 

"  Ah !  yes,  there  are  many  things  to  fret  one.  This  is 
a  very  discomfortable  world.  Melne  Liebe,  what  shall  I  do 
for  you  ?  " 

"  Helen  will  be  quite  satisfied  if  you  will  only  tell  her 
whether  this  letter  is  yours,"  said  Susan ;  and  in  an  instant 
she  placed  the  letter  before  Madame  Reinhard  and  looked 
at  her  steadily. 

"Mine!  my  letter!  Miss  Graham !  "  Madame  Rein- 
hard took  the  letter  from  Susan's  hand,  and  there  was  a 
visible  change  in  her  countenance. 

"  It  is  yours,  I  believe,"  said  Susan  ;  and  Helen  raised 
her  eyes  to  Madame  Reinhard,  and  as  she  waited  for  a  re- 
ply, withdrew  from  the  caressing  arm  which  was  laid  upon 
her  neck. 

Madame  Reinhard  laughed.  "Mcin  lirbes  Herz !  and 
you  care  for  the  nonsense,  tlic  joke  !     Too  silly." 

"  Is  it  yours?  "  said  Helen,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"What  can  it  signify?  and  how  did  you  have  it?" 
Madame  Reinhard  became  indignant  as  she  addressed  Susan, 
"  So  unladylike  !  so  low  !  so  mean  !  " 

"  What  I  am  is  nothing  to  the  present  purpose,"  replied 
Susan  quietly.    "  I  think,  Helen,  your  question  i^  answered.'1 


172  iyors. 

"  No  !  it  is  not  answered,"  exclaimed  Madame  Reinhard. 
"  I  will  proclaim  to  the  world,  I  will  let  it  be  known  what 
Miss  Graham  is.  Ma  pauvre  petite/"  Again  she  would 
have  caressed  Helen,  but  there  was  the  same  steady  repul- 
sion ;   Helen  did  not  even  look  at  her. 

"It  shall  be  a  public  disgrace  a  dishonour,"  continued 
Madame  Reinhard,  passionately  ;  '  for  myself,  what  care  I  ?  " 
and,  changing  her  tone,  she  tried  to  laugh.  "  You  ask  me 
about  the  letter.  Suppose  it  to  be  mine.  Suppose  I  write 
to  a  friend  about  things  near  my  heart,  and  all  but  settled. 
Suppose  I  repeat  the  nonsense  I  have  heard  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Helen,  and  the  tone  of  her  voice  for 
a  moment  silenced  Madame  Reinhard. 

"  It  is  scarcely  nonsense,"  continued  Susan,  "  to  repeat  to 
a  person  like  the  Baroness  d'Olban  the  things  you  have 
heajd  from  Helen  in  strict  confidence ;  still  less  can  it  be 
uonsense  to  tell  them  to  Captain  Mordaunt,  and  to  encourage 
him  to  make  a  bet  publicly  that,  with  your  help,  Helen 
Clare  shall  consent  to  be  his  wife,  willing  or  not  willing,  be- 
fore another  week  has  passed." 

Helen  involuntarily  shuddered,  and  Susan  stooped  and 
kissed  her  forehead. 

"  The  Baroness  d'Olban  spoken  of  in  that  way !  "  ex- 
claimed Madame  Reinhard.  ■  Miss  Graham,  you  will 
answer  for  your  words." 

"  You  spoke  of  her  yourself,"  said  Helen,  in  a  faint  voice. 
"  You  told  me  that  you  were  scarcely  accpaainted  with  her." 

"  At  first,  of  course  ;  one  is  but  a  slight  accmaintance  at 
first ;  and  I  did  hear  things  :  it  follows  not  they  are  true. 
Meine  Liebe,  it  must  not  be  that  jou  judge  me  so.  Let  me 
talk  to  you  by  myself."     She  glanced  impatiently  at  Susan. 

"  I  shall  keep  you  but  a  very  few  minutes,"  said  Susan. 
"  Helen,  Madame  Reinhard  deceives  you.  She  has  long  been 
the  intimate  friend  of  the  Baroness  d'Olban.     I  could  prove 


itors.  173 

that  -without  the  help  of  the  letter.  A  person  whom  we 
both  depend  upon  kuows  it." 

<c  A  person  !  hear  her,  Helen,"  exclaimed  Madame  Rein- 
hard.  "  I  will  tell  you  all.  Do  I  not  see  it  as  if  it  were 
written  before  me  ?  She  leagues  with  that  Mr.  Egerton : 
she  spies  upon  jou  and  upon  me.  He  has  been  at  my 
house ;  he  knows  my  friends ;  it  is  his  scheme.  He  does 
not  forgive,  and  he  would  revenge ;  he  would  not  see  you 
happy." 

Susan  smiled  coldly.  "  Helen,  dearest,"  she  said,  '  you 
are  convinced."  But  Helen  could  not  speak ;  only  bitter, 
scalding  tears  coursed  each  other  clown  her  cheeks. 

"  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  will  have  Mr.  Egerton  answer  for 
this,"  said  Madame  Reinhard. 

Helen  clasped  her  hands  together  in  terror. 

Susan  whispered  to  her,  "  An  idle  threat !  Now  or  never 
you  must  have  courage."  She  spoke  aloud  to  Madame 
Reinhard,  "  You  have  brought  in  Mr.  Egcrton's  name  unjus- 
tifiably. It  is  I  who  am  answerable  for  this,  and  I  only. 
Helen,  before  I  go,  promise  me  that  this  miserable  engage- 
ment shall  be  put  an  end  to." 

"  And  take  the  consequences,"  exclaimed  Madame  Rein- 
hard.  "  Let  Mr.  Egerton  meet  Captain  Mordaunt  if  he 
dare." 

Susan  held  her  cousin's  trembling  hand.  "  Helen,  dar- 
ling trust  me,  the  blame  is  mine,  only  save  yourself." 

"  She  deceived  me,"  murmured  Helen. 

"  And  Captain  Mordaunt,*'  said  Susan  ;   "  what  of  him  ?  " 

The  contraction  of  Helen's  brow  showed  the  feeling 
which  his  name  aroused. 

"  Twice  a  jilt,"  said  Madame  Reinhard,  sarcastically.  "I 
know  your  English  word."' 

Helen  started  from  herseat.  "  Who  dares  call  me  that  VM 
but  she  sank  down  again  and  murmured,  "It  will  be  true." 


171  IVOES. 

"  It  will  not  be  true  !  "  exclaimed  Susan.  "  You  were 
deceived  by  false  appearances,  and  you  have  a  full  right  to 
draw  back." 

"  And  Sir  Henry  and  Miladi  Augusta,  and  the  kind 
world  ?  "  said  Madame  Reinhard,  coolly. 

"  Mamma !  "  murmured  Helen.     "  Susan,  I  dare  not." 

"  Dare  not  be  honest !  Oh,  Helen,  how  low  hare  you 
sunk  !  " 

Helen  groaned  in  bitterness  of  spirit. 

Madame  Reinhard  put  her  arm  round  her ;  but  Helen 
drew  herself  away  as  from  the  touch  of  a  serpent. 

Susan  looked  at  her  watch.  "  There  are  but  a  few  min- 
utes more :  come  with  me  now,  Helen,  to  Lady  Augusta. 
Let  the  world  blame  you ;  and  grant  that  it  may  have  cause 
for  blame,  yet  you  will  have  some  always  to  love  and  care 
for  you, — my  mother,  myself,  Claude " 

"  Not  him  !   not  him !  "  murmured  Helen. 

"  Yes,  Claude,"  repeated  Susan  ;  and  the  unselfish  noble- 
ness of  her  nature  gave  force  to  the  words  which  jarred  upon 
the  very  tenderest  chord  of  her  own  heart.  "  He  has  never 
ceased  to  be  your  friend.     It  is  not  in  his  nature  to  forget." 

"  Only  to  be  comforted,"  observed  Madame  Reinhard, 
bitterly.  "  You  see,  meine  Liebe,  it  is  as  I  said;  Miss  Gra- 
ham and  Mr.  Egerton,  they  are  one." 

"  Was  not  that  a  carriage  which  stopped  ?  "  exclaimed 
Helen.  She  rushed  to  the  window.  :i  Mamma  is  going  out. 
I  can't  see  her." 

Susan,  instead  of  replying,  drew  her  gently  to  the  door. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Madame  Reinhard. 

Helen  turned  to  her  with  sudden  composure  :  "  You  may 
congratulate  me,"  she  said.  "  Whatever  may  be  the  end, 
Madame  Reinhard,  at  least,  will  never  again  have  the  op- 
portunity of  deceiving  me." 

She  followed  Susan  down   the  stairs,  and  paused  at  the 


IVOKS.  1  I  O 

entrance  of  Lad}-  Augusta's  boudoir.  "  Let  me  go  in  alone  ; 
wait  for  me  in  the  drawing-room." 

Susan  whispered,  "  God  help  you,  dearest !  "  and  Helen 
opened  the  door. 

But  the  room  was  empty.  She  hurried  again  into  the 
passage.  Susan  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  Helen  joiued 
her  there.  In  that  interval  Lady  Augusta  passed  down  the 
staircase,  and  the  rattle  of  the  carriage  wheels  was  the  an- 
nouncement that  she  had  driven  off. 

Helen  looked  at  her  cousin  with  a  face  of  utter  despair. 
"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  it  is  all  against  me." 

"  Never  !  never !  Helen ;  it  will  save  you  from  a  life- 
long repentance." 

"  If  you  could  only  stay  with  me,"  murmured  Helen. 

"  Impossible  !  I  have  not  even  now  three  minutes.  Only 
promise  that  it  shall  be  done." 

Helen  trembled  as  she  said,  "  I  promise." 

And  Susan  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  whispered  again, 
"  God  help  you  !  "  And  in  another  minute  she  was  driving 
through  the  streets,  amid  the  whirl  of  business  and  pleasure, 
with  one  thought  in  her  heart,  that  she  had  saved  Helen  for 
the  present,  and  that  the  future  lay  with  God. 

Helen  had  but  a  short  private  interview  with  Lady  Au- 
gusta that  evening,  very  much  shorter  than  she  had  antici- 
pated. Lady  Augusta  came  home  from  her  drive  full  of  ex- 
citement. She  had  been  making  a  round  of  visits,  announcing 
to  her  friends  dear  Helen's  approaching  marriage  with  Con- 
stantine  Mordaunt,  so  soon  to  be  Earl  of  Harford.  She 
had  received  congratulations,  heard  from  all  quarters  that  she 
was  the  best,  wisest,  kindest  of  Step-mothers,  and  had  owned 
that  she  was  at  the  summit  of  her  expectations.  Something 
perhaps  in  the  unusual  flow  of  spirits  which  the  circum- 
stances occasioned,  and  the  heat  of  the  weather,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  great,  broughl   on   a   violenl  headache;  but  she 


170  IVOKS. 

tfould  not  yield  to  it.  When  her  maid  came  to  dress  her  for 
dinner,  she  insisted  upon  seeing  Helen,  and  talking  with  her 
about  her  wedding  dress.  Helen  went  to  her  as  a  culprit. 
Lady  Augusta's  first  question  was,  "  How  did  you  enjoy 
your  drive  to  Richmond  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  go,  mamma,"  was  the  reply.  The  tone  and 
manner  were  very  peculiar. 

Lady  Augusta  turned  round  sharply,  and  curiously. 
"  You  did  not  go,  Helen  ?  And  Madame  Rcinhard,  and 
Oonstantine  ?  " 

"  They  may  have  gone;  I  can't  say." 

Helen  had  not  the  least  intention  of  being  aggravating ; 
she  was  too  much  afraid  of  the  task  before  her  willingly  to 
increase  the  irritation  which  she  discovered  in  Lady  Au- 
gusta's manner.     But  her  very  timidity  was  her  danger. 

"  I  don't  understand  ;  you  are  playing  with  me,  Helen." 

"  Not  playing  at  all,  mamma,  only  in  very  serious  ear- 
nest." Helen's  voice  softened,  and  there  was  something  be- 
seeching in  her  accent. 

Lady  Augusta  raised  her  hand  to  her  head:  Helen  saw 
that  her  face  was  flushed,  and  there  was  an  expression  in  her 
eyes  which  was  unusual.  She  begged  her  to  sit  down,  and 
offered  her  some  eau  de  Cologne,  and  Lady  Augusta  bathed 
her  temples,  and  owned  she  felt  strange  and  ill ;  but  she  per- 
sisted in  her  inquiry.  Helen  tried  to  evade  it ;  and  the 
evasion  increased  Lady  Augusta's  agitation.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  secret  misgiving  lurked  in  her  mind,  ready  to 
break  forth  at  any  moment. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  your  wedding  dress,"  she 
said. 

"  Have  you,  mamma  ?  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  given 
yourself  the  trouble." 

"  Why  call  it  trouble  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Lady 
Augusta's  tone  was  fierce,  and  again  she  pressed  her  hand 
upon  her  brow. 


ITORS.  177 

"  We  won't  talk  about  it  just  at  present,"  said  Helen, 
for  she  felt  frightened. 

"  But  we  must  talk  about  it  ;  there  is  something  hidden, 
— I  will  know.  Helen  !  " — the  suspicion  burst  forth, — 
"  you  would  not  dare  play  false  a  second  time  ?  " 

Helen  trembled  violently.  She  said  in  a  faltering  voice, 
"  I  will  explain  what  I  feel  another  time,  but  I  think  Cap- 
tain Mordaunt  has  not  treated  me  quite  as  he  ought." 

Lady  Augusta  gazed  upon  her  wonderingly  and  incredu- 
lously. "  Changed  since  this  afternoon  !  changed  !  changed  !  " 
she  repeated. 

"  Only  from  things  I  have  heard,"  said  Helen,  speaking 
very  gently.  "  They  must  be  impaired  into.  But  not  now, 
mamma,  not  now  ;  you  are  ill.  I  am  sure  you  are,"  she 
added,  taking  Lady  Augusta's  hand. 

"  I  am  not  ill;  I  am  well."  Lady  Augusta  caught  her 
hand  away,  and  stood  up  ;  her  face  was  crimson.  "  Helen, 
you  have  been  my  torment  from  your  infancy." 

Helen  was  proudly  silent. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Lady  Augusta,  "  you  have  thwarted 
me  in  everything — all  my  wishes  have  been  disappointed. 
You  have  made  yourself  a  mark  for  the  world ;  every  one 
points  at  me  because  of  your  conduct.  But  it  shall  not  be 
again  " — the  tones  of  her  voice  became  louder.  "  You  shall 
promise  me  that  you  will  never  treat  Constantino  Mordaunt 
as  you  did  Claude  Egcrton." 

She  waited  for  a  reply,  her  eyes  riveted,  and  her  figure 
immovable.  If  it  had  been  an  hour  before  Helen  answered, 
it  seemed  that  she  would  still  have  remained  in  the  same 
fixed  attitude. 

"  I  cannot  promise,  mamma.     I  can  prove  to  you  that 

Captain  Mordaunt  is "       But    Helen  dared  not  finish 

her  .sentence,  for  Lady  Augusta    sank    into   a   chair,  her  face 
working   with    convulsive   agitation.      Helen"  drew  near,  but 


17s  IVOES. 

she  was  motioned  away.     Lady  Augusta's  countenance  ex 
pressed  the  most  racking  pain  and  mental  excitement. 

Helen,  now  excessively  alarmed,  touched  the  bell,  but 
Lady  Augusta  started  forward  to  prevent  her.  The  exertion 
was  followed  by  reaction,  and  she  fell  back  in  a  kind  of 
stupor. 

A  telegraphic  message  that  evening  carried  the  intelli- 
gence to  Wingfield,  that  Lady  Augusta  Clara  was  attacked 
with  brain  fever,  and  that  her  life  was  in  danger. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

Among  the  many  scenes  upon  which  the  eye  of  the  traveller 
rests,  as  he  wanders  through  foreign  lands,  there  are  perhaps 
only  a  few  which  imprint  themselves  indelibly  on  the  me- 
mory. The  greater  part  fade  both  in  colouring  and  in  the 
distinctness  of  their  outline,  as  years  go  by.  The  geueral 
impression — the  soul,  if  it  may  be  so  called — leaves  its  trace  ; 
we  feel  what  we  have  looked  upon,  but  we  cannot  recall  it. 
Yet  some  recollections  there  are  upon  which  the  hand  of 
time  seems  to  have  no  power.  The  current  of  life  bears  us 
rapidly  away,  and  its  cares  call  our  attention  aside,  and  give 
us  no  leisure  for  imagination  ;  but  the  beauty  once  gazed 
upon,  has  become  "  a  joy  for  ever."  Still  it  appears  before 
us,  unlooked  for,  unsummoned  ;  still  it  paints  itself  to  our 
fancy  in  the  heaped-up  masses  of  the  stormy  clouds,  and  the 
vivid  colouring  of  the  sunset  sky ;  and  even  as  it  rises  there 
follows  the  intense,  eager,  longing  to  look  upon  it  once 
more,  which  would  seem  to  belong  only  to  the  love  called 
forth  by  a  living  being,  the  yearning  for  the  absent  and  the 
dead. 


IVOKS. 


170 


There  is  a  narrow  pass  between  the  mountains  which 
separate  the  southern  Tyrol  from  the  Austrian  province  of 
Venice. 

Some  fifty  years  ago,  it  was  probably  traversed  by  few 
but  the  people  of  the  country.  Now,  a  road,  broad  and 
smooth,  passes  along  the  base  of  the  mighty  hills,  and  tracks 
the  course  of  the  little  river  Rienz,  leading  by  a  continuous 
but  gradual  ascent  from  the  Pusteithal  to  the  vale  of  Am- 
pezzo.  Along  this  road,  the  English  traveller  rolls  in  his 
easy  carnage,  troops  of  soldiers  march  on  their  way  to  the 
Austrian  provinces,  and  the  stream  of  commercial  traffic 
passes  from  Bavaria  and  the  Tyrol  to  the  seaports  of  Trieste 
and  Venice. 

Yet  the  Ampezzo  pass  can  never  be  anything  but  solitary 
— solitary  in  spirit.  The  jagged  peaks  of  the  dolomite  moun- 
tains stand  apart,  holding  no  communion  with  the  pettiness 
of  human  interests.  They  point  t'leir  spiral  summits,  sharp 
as  gigantic  needles,  to  the  sky  ;  and  the  gloomy  cliffs  which 
form  their  base  stand  proudly  inaccessible  to  the  foot  of 
man.  Wonderful  indeed  they  are  both  in  form  and  colour- 
ing: in  parts  black,  as  though  some  huge  hand  had  stained 
their  rugged  precipices  with  pitch  ;  iu  parts  tinged  with  a 
pale  yellow,  and  again  exhibiting  a  surface  of  deep,  bright 
red.  Peak  above  peak  they  rise ;  their  keen  heads  looking 
down  upon  the  solemn  pine  forests  which  clothe  their  sides; 
whilst  behind,  peering  over  all,  may  be  seen  a  far  distant 
summit,  steeped,  glowing,  fused  in  the  light  which  is  neither 
of  Heaven  nor  of  earth,  but  which  mingles  the  glories  of  each, 
the  hue  of  sunset  upon  snow. 

Such  at  least  was  the  appearance  of  the  mountains  as  a 
party  of  English  travellers,  on  their  way  from  [nspruck  to 
Venice,  journeyed  through  the  Ampezzo  pass,  late  in  an  eveu- 
ing  towards  the  close  of  summer.     An  elderly  lady,  thin  and 

rird,  and  propped  up  by  cushions,  and  evidently  wearied 


ISO  IYOKS. 

by  the  distance  -which  she  had  already  travelled,  leaned  back 
in  the  luxurious  carriage,  with  her  eyes  closed ;  or,  if  she 
opened  them,  casting  a  vacant  glance  around  her,  as  though 
she  did  not  understand  why  she  should  be  there,  and  inquir- 
ing how  much  farther  they  must  go  before  they  stopped  for 
the  nio;ht. 

By  her  side  sat  a  young  girl,  pale  and  worn  likewise,  so 
worn  indeed,  that  at  the  first  glance  the  perfect  outline  of 
her  very  lovely  features  would  scarcely  have  attracted  re- 
mark. But  bodily  fatigue  seemed  to  have  no  power  over 
her,  as  bending  from  the  carriage,  she  gazed  intently  upon 
the  rocks,  every  now  and  then  uttering  some  ejaculation  of 
wonder  and  delight,  and  the  next  moment  turning  to  the 
invalid  with  a  word  of  apology  or  thoughtfulness,  arranging 
the  pillows,  and  suggesting,  "  We  shall  be  there  very  soon 
now  !     Pietro  says  so." 

The  back  seat  of  the  carriage  was  occupied  by  a  tall, 
grey-haired  gentleman,  busied  with  Murray's  Handbook  ;  and 
another  lady,  young,  with  no  marked  beauty,  nothing  strik- 
ing in  figure  or  manner,  unless  it  might  be  an  air  of  thought- 
ful self-contvol  and  repose.  She  too  was  engrossed  by  the 
scenery,  but  It  was  in  a  different  way  from  her  companion. 
There  were  no  expressions  of  ecstacy  ;  she  sat  quite  still,  and 
it  seemed  an  effort  to  her  to  speak  ;  but  there  was  a  mist 
over  her  dark  grey  eyes,  and  occasionally  she  laid  her  hand 
gently  upon  that  of  her  friend,  and  when  their  glances  met, 
she  smiled,  and  the  smile  was  as  a  sunbeam  of  gladness  light- 
ing up  some  quiet  home  valley. 

"  Cortina  d'Ampezzo,  that  was  the  place,  wasn't  it,  Su- 
san ? "  said  the  gentleman,  pointing  to  the  name  in  the 
Handbook.  "  Stella  d'Oro,  clean  and  honest, — one  must 
look  out  for  both  those  points  now  :  these  people  are  not  so 
unsophisticated  as  our  friends  in  the  Tyrol." 

"  Lady  Augusta  will   like  the  Italian  cookery,  I  hope," 


IVOES.  181 

said  Susan ;  "  that  is  one  great  fault  in  the  Tyrol ;  one  can't 
afford  to  have  a  fastidious  appetite." 

Lad}-  Augusta  roused  herself.  "  Are  we  getting  to  the 
end,  Sir  Henry  ?     I  don't  see  any  houses." 

No  one  smiled;  but  Helen  answered  directly,  "  We  are 
very  near  the  top  of  the  pass  ;  and  there  Pietro  will  move 
on  faster ;   and  papa  says  it  is  a  very  good  inn." 

"  Murray  says  so,  not  I,"  said  Sir  Henry  ;  "  what  he  mils 
good  may  be  straw  beds  and  sour  bread." 

"  It  'is  very  hard,"  murmured  Lady  Augusta ;  "  we 
would  pay  for  every  thing ;  we  don't  care  what  we  pay 
Pietro  manages  very  badly ;  we  ought  to  turn  him  away." 

"  Pietro  is  only  the  voiturier,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Henry. 
"  He  does  well  enough  what  he  professes ;  he  can't  answer 
for  the  inns." 

Lady  Augusta  looked  to  Helen  as  if  for  protection. 
There  was  an  expression  of  helplessness  in  her  marked,  hard 
features  which  was  very  sad. 

"  Annette  will  manage  very  comfortably  for  us,"  said 
Helen.  "  She  has  been  abroad  so  much,  she  knows  exactly 
what  to  do.  You  will  quite  enjoy  your  tea  and  your  rest 
when  they  come,  mamnia.      Now  we  really  are  at  the  top." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  the  top,"  said  Lady  Augus- 
ta ;  "  we  have  not  been  going  up  hill  at  all.  I  can't  think 
why  you  talk  so,  Helen ;  and  Annette  did  not  make  my  bed 
at  all  comfortable  last  night.  We  will  go  back,  Sir  Henry. 
I  want  to  go  back  to  England." 

Helen  sighed  bitterly,  and  offered  no  reply. 

"  Pietro  is  taking  off  the  horse  he  hired,  I  see,"  said  Sir 
Henry,  looking  out.  "  That  shows  we  shall  have  no  more 
hills.  1  don't  think  we  needed  help,  oidy  Pietro  is  so  careful. 
The  Tyrol  peasant  will  hav<  a  good  journey  to  travel  to- 
night if  he  has  to  make  his  way  hade  lo  I  In:  I'ustcrthal  with 
his  tired  animal.     That  can't  be  Cortina  d'Ampezzo  surely  f  " 


1S2  IVORS. 

and  be  pointed  to  a  small  inn,  little  more  than  a  hovel,  by 
the  wayside. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  question,  for  it  drew  Lady  Augusta's 
attention  again  to  the  fact  that  it  was  rapidly  growing  dark, 
and  that  there  were  no  signs  of  a  human  habitation,  except 
the  shelter  to  which  Sir  Henry  had  alluded,  and  which  had 
Deen  originally  intended  for  a  hospice;  and  the  ruins  of  a 
castle  standing  on  the  ridge  of  one  of  the  nearest  hills,  and 
in  former  days  commanding  the  approach  to  the  Tyrol 
through  the  Ampezzo  pass. 

"  I  don't  know  why  we  came  here,"  she  began ;  but  she 
was  interrupted  by  Sir  Henry,  in  the  determined  tone  which 
betrays  a  secret  misgiving. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  my  dear ;  Cortina  must  be  quite 
close  now.  Pietro," — he  summoned  the  voiturier  to  the 
carriage, — "get  on,  man,  quickly;  we  can't  be  out  all 
night." 

Pietro,  usually  the  most  good-natured  of  voituriers,  was  a 
little  out  of  heart,  from  the  fact  that  he  knew  no  more  than  Sir 
Henry  of  the  exact  distance  his  horses  had  still  to  travel.  He 
mounted  to  his  seat  rather  sullenly,  gave  his  whip  a  very  spirit- 
less smack  compared  with  that  which  he  usually  exhibited,  and 
rounding  the  angle  of  the  hill,  turned  his  back  upon  the 
mountains,  now  growing  gloomier  and  fiercer  in  their  phan- 
tom grandeur,  as  the  gathering  darkness,  and  the  last  burn- 
ing colouring  of  sunset  enveloped  their  sharp  peaks,  and 
descended  into  the  valley  of  Ampezzo 

The  party  in  the  carriage  Decame  silent.  Lady  Augusta 
again  closed  her  eyes.  Sir  Henry  turned  round  every  in- 
stant, as  if  the  action  would  hurry  the  horses,  and  make  the 
distance  shorter ;  and  Susan  looked  back  upon  the  mountains, 
and  wrote  the  scene  in  her  memory ;  whilst  Helen's  eye 
dwelt  upon  the  wide  opening  valley,  dark  as  one  of  Poussin's 
pictures,  and   her   thoughts  took  their   hue  from   the  pine 


ivors.  183 

forests,  and  the  twilight  shadow?,  and  it  seemed  to  her  an 
image  of  her  life. 

"  "We  go  to  the  Stella  d'Oro,  remember,  Pietro,"  shouted 
Sir  Henry,  when  the  twinkle  of  a  light  was  seen  in  the 
distance. 

"  Not  near  yet,  sir,"  was  the  answer;  and  the  voiturier 
quickened  his  pace. 

"  There  is  a  carriage  before  us,  I  think,"  said  Helen, 
leaning  out ;  "  I  wonder  whether  they  know  the  way  better 
than  we  do." 

"  There  is  no  mistaking  the  way  in  a  country  like  this, 
said  Sir  Henry,  impatiently ;  "  you   couldn't  get  out  of  the 
road  if  you  wished  it.     Distance  is  the  only  thing, — a  mon- 
strous long  journey  it  is." 

"  I  wonder  what  hotel  those  people  are  going  to,"  said 
Helen  ;  "  they  will  have  the  best  choice  of  beds  if  we  don't 
take  care  :  not  that  it  signifies  for  us,  only  for  mamma." 

"  A  choice  of  straw,  I  su>pect  it  will  be,"  said  Sir 
Henry.  "  You  don't  expect  to  find  Loudon  hotels  here, 
Helen,  do  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  expect,"  said  Helen,  sadly  ;  "  but 
mamma  is  so  tired,  she  will  be  quite  ill  if  we  don't  stop 
soon." 

"  We  arc  stopping,  it  seems,"  said  Sir  Henr}',  as  Pietro 
suddenly  drew  his  horses  up.     "  What's  the   matter  now  ?  " 

"  I  should  just  like  to  kuow  how  much  further  we  may 
goto  look  for  Cortina,"  was  the  reply.  "  There's  a  party 
beyond  at  a  stand  still;  "  and  Pietro  let  himsef  down  from 
his  seat,  and  called  out  to  the  voiturier  of  the  vehicle  be- 
fore them.  A  short  conversation,  in  a  patois  compounded 
of  German  and  Italian,  followed,  at  the  close  of  which 
Pietro  returned,  with  the  information  that  it  was  a  good 
way  still." 

"Ask  what  inn  they  go  to,"  .-aid   Sir  Henry;   "ask  if 


1SI  IVORS. 

they  know  anything  about  the  Stella  d'Oro.  It  won't  do  tc 
give  your  mamma  a  bad  night,"  he  added,  looking  anxiously 
at  Lady  Augusta. 

Pietro  went  back  with  his  query.  "  The  Post,  or  the 
Aquila  Nera,"  called  out  an  English  voice,  in  the  unmistak- 
able accent  of  an  English  gentleman. 

"  Claude  Egerton  !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Henry,  and  he  tried 
to  push  open  the  carriage  door,  but  it  resisted.  The  voitu- 
rier  drove  on,  and  Sir  Henry  finished  his  sentence  quietly, 
by  adding,  ';  It  couldn't  have  been  though  ;  he  is  kept  at 
home." 

Neither  Susan  nor  Helen  spoke  again  till  they  entered 
the  village  of  Cortina  d'Ampezzo,  and  stopped  before  the 
uninviting  entrance  of  the  Stella  d'Oro. 


CHAPTER  LXYI. 

"  One  person  at  least  is  happy  to-night,"  said  Helen,  as  she 
sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  a  pallet  bed,  literally  the  only 
piece  of  furniture  in  the  bare  apartment,  considered  one  of 
the  good  bed-rooms  of  the  Stella  d'Oro.  I  thought  Pietro 
would  have  kissed  the  landlord  in  his  delight  at  hearing 
Italian  spoken  at  last. 

"  It  does  not  seem  like  Italy,"  said  Susan.  She  had 
made  a  seat  of  her  carpet-bag,  and  was  resting  her  back 
against  the  wall.  "  Are  we  both  to  sleep  in  that  bed,  Helen  ? 
as  they  say  this  is  the  only  room  we  can  have." 

"  I  could  sleep  upon  the  ground,"  said  Helen,  "  if  it  were 
only  clean."  She  put  the  candle  down  upon  the  floor,  and 
examined  it. 

"  Better  not,"  said  Susan  ;  "  '  what  the  eye  does  n't  see 
the  heart  does  n't  grieve.'  " 


ivors.  185 

H  But  the  body  does,  unfortunately,"  observed  llelen. 
"  Poor  mamma  !  If  they  put  her  into  a  bed  like  this,  what 
will  become  of  her  ?  Stuffed  with  straw,  actually  !  I 
thought  papa  was  laughing  at  me  ;  and  such  hills  and  val- 
leys !     However,  it  will  remind  one  of  the  Ampezzo  pass." 

"  One  shall  scarcely  need  to  be  reminded  of  that,"  said 
Susan. 

«  Xo  ;  " — Helen  paused — "  it  was  a  longing  of  my  child- 
hood to  travel.  I  remember  once  when  I  was  a  very  little 
thing,  arrd  had  been  hearing  people  talk  about  it,  I  prayed 
that  I  might.  When  the  prayer  is  granted,  I  suppose  one 
ou^ht  not  to  murmur  at  the  way." 

"  "What  have  you  done  with  Lady  Augusta  ?  "  asked  Su- 
san, rather  abruptly. 

"  Left  her  with  Annette.  I  tried  to  do  what  I  could, 
but  it  wouldn't  do.  She  says  she  is  cold,  and  she  has  had 
the  stove  lighted  ;  she  will  find  it  too  much  by  and  by,  but 
one  can't  help  it.  It  will  make  that  odd  ante-room  comfort- 
able for  papa.  Annette  has  taken  out  the  back  of  the  stove 
which  opens  into  it,  and  now  it  looks  like  an  English  fire- 
place.     One  likes  that,  in  spite  of  being  in  Italy." 

"  It  must  be  cold  so  high  as  we  are,"  said  Susan.  "  It 
is  cold  now." 

"The  Post  or  the  Aquila  Nera  might  have  been  better 
than  this,"  said  Helen. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  only  reply,  Susan  rose  from  her  carpet- 
bag, and  unlocked  it. 

"  Was  it  Claude  Egcrton?  "  said  Helen. 

"  I  think  SO  ;  "  but  Su.san  did  not  look  round. 

"I  wonder  how  he  came  here,"  said  Helen. 

"He  won't  brave]  as  we  do,"  observed  Susan  quickly. 

"No;  "  Helen  thought  for  a  moment.  "I  am  not  sure, 
Susan,  that  we  were  wise  in  coming." 

"  Lady  A  ugusta  will  be  better  when  we  are  at  rest  again," 
22 


186  irons.. 

said  Susan;  "  when  we  get  to  Venice.  The  long  journeys 
are  too  much  for  her." 

"  And  the  discomfort,"  said  Helen.  She  looked  round 
the  room  disconsolately.  "  I  suppose  Annette  will  be  here 
presently  ;  there  are  no  bells." 

"  We  may  as  well  trust  to  her,"  said  Susan ;  "  we  can  do 
nothing ;  "  and  as  she  spoke  a  knock  at  the  door  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  entrance  of  Annette,  and  the  peasant  girl  who 
acted  as  chambermaid. 

"  Miladi  waits  tea,"  said  Annette,  reproachfully.  Sir 
Henry  begs  you  to  go,  young  ladies.  Miss  Graham  !  at  your 
carpet-bag  !  What's  the  use  ?  You  go.'  I  see  to  all ;  only 
you  be  patient.  Here," — and  she  beckoned  authoritatively 
to  the  girls,  and  touched  the  bed — "  due — tu  comprends — 
zwei." 

"  And  some  water,  Annette  ?  can't  we  have  a  little  wa- 
ter ?  "  said  Helen. 

"Ah!  dell'  acqua, — wasser, — water;  you  fetch  some." 
Annette  pushed  the  chambermaid  out  of  the  room,  and  then 
followed  to  see  that  she  obeyed  orders. 

"  Annette  is  in  her  glory,"  said  Helen ;  "  she  always  is 
when  every  one  else  is  in  despair ;  "  why  don't  we  fetch  the 
water  ourselves,  Susan?" 

"  Because  we  don't  know  where  to  find  it,  I  suppose," 
said  Susan,  laughing.  "  And  that  ante-room,  which  they 
call  a  sitting-room,  with  all  our  doors  opening  into  it,  is  like 
the  sea ;  one  is  afraid  to  cross  it  and  explore  tho  regions  on 
the  other  side.  How  much  water  will  they  give  us,  I  won- 
der !  Our  chambermaid  looks  as  if  she  had  never  seen  such 
an  element." 

Annette  came  back  with  a  small  basin,  and  a  smaller 
jug,  and  one  towel.  "  It  was  all  they  could  have  then,"  she 
said,  in  a  threatening  tone  ;  "  so  they  must  be  contented.  If 
they  would  travel  amongst  les  rochers,  les  moniagnes,  what 


IVORS.  1ST 

could  they  expect  ?      And  poor  Miladi !  tired  out :  wanting 
her  tea  !     They  must  go  at  once." 

"  '  Beggars  musn't  he  choosers,'  "  said  Susan.  She  took 
up  one  corner  of  the  towel,  and  dipped  it  in  the  water,  and 
gave  another  to  her  cousin.  But  Helen  was  thinking  of 
something  else,  and  let  it  fall. 

"  Mamma  didn't  ask  for  me  after  I  left  her,  did  she,  An- 
nette ?  " 

"  No,  mademoiselle.  Miladi  only  wants  her  tea ;  "  and 
Annette"  opened  the  door  into  the  ante-room,  in  spite  of  Hel- 
en's warning  that  she  was  not  ready. 

"  She  didn't  say  anything  about  my  having  the  other  bed 
in  her  room,  did  she  ?  "  continued  Helen. 

"  No,  mademoiselle.  Miladi  said  to  me.  '  Annette,  }-ou 
sleep  there.'  And  I  think  it  better,  Miladi  depends  upon 
me." 

Annette  spoke  proudly,  conscious  of  her  own  importance. 

"  Please  go  and  pour  out  the  coffee,  Susan  ;  I  am  coming. 
Annette,  you  may  wait  to  get  the  room  ready." 

The  door  closed,  and  when  Helen  was  left  alone,  in  the 
bare,  uncarpeted,  dreary  chamber  of  the  homely  inn,  she 
knelt  by  the  side  of  the  little  pallet  bed,  and  as  tears  coursed 
each  other  down  her  cheeks,  prayed  as  she  ha  J  never  prayed 
in  her  own  splendidly  furnished  apartment  at  Ivors,  that 
God  would  be  pleased  to  pardon  the  many,  many  sins  of  her 
wilful  youth,  and  permit  her  to  a  tone  to  her  father  and  her 
step-mother  for  the  sorrow  she  had  caused  thciu,  by  the  de- 
votion of  her  future  life. 

That  was  Helen's  constant  prayer  now.  There  was  one 
thought  ever  in  her  mind  ;  her  faults,  her  follies,  had  been 
the  indirect,  though  possibly  no!  the  immediate  cause  of  the 
Wreck  of  Lady  Augusta's  health,  and  of  the  powers  of  her 
iniud. 

Coffee,  fresh  effes,  an  omelette,  and  some  eatable  bread! 


188  ivors. 

The  Stella  d'Oro  rose  in  Helen's  estimation  -when  she  found 
that  Lady  Augusta  could  make  a  Learty  meal ;  but  it  was 
only  a  sad  pleasure,  after  all.  Lady  Augusta  was  like  a  child 
now.  When  her  bodily  comforts  were  attended  to,  she  was 
satisfied  to  remain,  without  troubling  herself  either  with  the 
past  or  the  future.  She  was  irritable  indeed  when  the  next 
day's  journey  was  mentioned.  "  If  they  were  comfortable 
where  they  were,"  she  said,  "  why  should  they  not  stay  ? 
The  people  were  very  civil,  she  did  not  like  moving;  now 
they  were  in  Italy,  they  ought  to  be  contented." 

"  Only  near  Italy,  not  quite  in  it,  yet,"  said  Helen,  in  a 
soothing  tone.  "  We  must  pass  Zuel  first.  That  must  be 
some  miles  beyond  this.  Besides,  mamma,  you  know  we  want 
to  reach  Venice." 

"  You  shall  go  about  in  a  gondola,  then,  my  dear,"  said 
Sir  Henry  ;  "  you  will  like  that  motion,  it  is  so  easy." 

Lady  Augusta  only  shook  her  head,  and  muttered  some- 
thing about  not  liking  gondolas,  and  wishing  to  go  to  bed. 
Helen  summoned  Annette  from  the  room,  where  she  was 
employed  in  superintending  the  arrangement  of  a  second 
bed,  and  a  washing-stand,  and  Lady  Augusta  departed; 
Helen  following  her  to  the  door  of  her  apartment,  and  beg- 
ging to  be  allowed  to  help  her,  but  receiving  only  an  abrupt 
negative. 

"  Now  for  plans ! "  said  Sir  Henry,  as  he  pushed  aside 
his  coffee  cup,  and  referred  to  his  constant  friend,  Murray. 
"  It  does  n't  do  to  discuss  them  with  your  mamma,  Helen. 
I  can't  make  out  at  all  where  Pietro  means  to  take  us  to- 
morrow. Belluno — that  is  out  of  our  way;  Santa  Croce — 
'  inn  miserable  ; '  Sarravalle,  Ceneda — too  far ;  Longarone — 
'  Post  improved  of  late  years  ;  '  that  does  n't  sound  well ; 
but  it  is  the  only  thing  within  reach  that  I  can  see.  I  won- 
der,"— he  started  up  and  then  sat  down  again, — "  If  that 
were  really  Claude  Egerton,  he  would  be  sure  to  know;  but 
it  could  n't  have  been,  certainly  it  could  n't." 


IVORS.  1S9 

Susan  answered  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  pocket- 
book,  in  which  she  was  making  a  few  pencil  notes.  "Isa- 
bella said  in  the  letter  which  I  had  at  Innsbruck,  that  31  r. 
Egerton  had  been  at  Wingfield,  and  that  he  was  making 
particular  inquiries  as  to  our  route." 

"  A  man  may  do  that  without  intending  to  follow  it," 
said  Sir  Henry.  "  If  we  were  in  a  civilized  place,  we  might 
send  and  inquire  for  Claude  at  the  Post,  and  the  Aquila 
Nera.  But  these  fellows  talk  such  a  jargon.  And  as  to 
going  oaeself "  he  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  the  fire  burn- 
ing at  the  back  of  the  stove ; — "  I  declare  it 's  as  cold  as 
December,  for  all  they  call  it  Italy." 

He  devoted  himself  again  to  the  guide  book.  "  Helen, 
you  are  a  good  hand  at  reckoning  distances ;  just  reckon 
these  with  me." 

Helen  tried  to  follow  where  her  father's  finger  pointed, 
but  she  could  not  give  her  attention,  and  Sir  Henry  appealed 
to  Susan. 

"  I  can't  think  what  has  happened  to  you  to-night,  you 
seem  both  good  for  nothing.  Bed  is  the  best  place  for  you 
after  all.  Why  dou't  you  go?  We  shall  have  to  start  early 
to-morrow." 

"  I  can't  go  till  I  am  sure  mamma  is  comfortable,"  said 
Helen  ;  "  but  that  need  n't  keep  you,  Susan.  Papa,  would 
it  be  really  impossible  to  find  out  more  about  our  journey 
to-morrow  ?  " 

Susan  had  closed  her  book,  and  lighted  her  candle,  but 
she  waited  to  hear  the  answer. 

"I  don't  know  who  is  to  help  us,  unless  it  may  be 
Claude,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"  It  will  be  very  bad  for  mamma  to  have  an  ancertaiu 
distance,"  continued    Helen.     "The  moment   there   is  any 

doubt  as  to  what  is  to  he  done,  she  becomes  BO  nervous." 

"Yes."     Sir  Henry  Looked  at  his  watch, th on  at  the  lire. 


190  IVORS. 

"  It  is  late  ;  they  will  be  gone  to  bed.  I  think  we  had  bet- 
ter make  inquiry  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  Pietrc 
will  go  then,  but  he  and  his  horses  must  be  fast  asleep  by 
this  time." 

Susan  took  np  her  candle,  and  said  good  night. 

"  I  shall  come  soon,"  said  Helen.  "  How  very  tired  you 
look,  Susan  ! " 

Susan  only  smiled.  As  she  left  the  room,  Sir  Henry 
remarked  :  "  People  used  to  say  that  Susan  had  even  spirits; 
I  don't  think  that  is  at  all  the  case  now." 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

"  A  glorious  morning,  Helen,  and  your  mamma  has  had  a 
good  night,  Annette  says.  We  shall  do  famously  now." 
Sir  Henry  made  his  appearance  in  the  ante-room  at  eight 
o'clock,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  walked  up  to  the  window  and 
back  again  to  the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  passage  to 
see  if  breakfast  was  coming.  "  A  glorious  morning  !  we 
ought  to  have  been  oif,  though,  by  this  time.  Not  a  place 
to  stay  in,  this,  in  spite  of  your  mamma's  wishes.  A  very 
shabby  apology  for  a  bed  they  gave  me ;  if  I  had  n't  been 
dead  tired,  I  could  n't  possibly  have  slept.  And  for  cleanli- 
ness— it's  best  not  to  inquire  too  minutely.  What  are  you 
doing  there,  child  ?  " 

"  Arranging  some  crochet  work  for  mamma,"  said  Helen. 
"  When  she  stops  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  she  likes  to  have 
some  work." 

"Always  thoughtful,"  said  Sir  Henry;  and  he  patted 
her  shoulder. 

Tears  rose  in  Helen's  eyes. 


IVORS.  191 

"  Not  sad,  my  child,  eh  ?  "  he  continued.  "  We  shall  do 
very  well  again,  depend  upon  it.  Markham  assured  me  that 
time  and  change  were  the  only  things  wanted.  And  for 
other  matters,  you  know,  Helen,  I  don't  quarrel  with  you, 
whatever  the  rest  of  the  world  may  do." 

"  It  would  not  signify  for  the  world,"  said  Helen,  "  if  I 
did  not  quarrel  with  myself." 

"  I  don't  see  the  cause  you  have,"  continued  Sir  Henry, 
a  little  impatiently.  "  Mordaunt  was  a  scoundrel;  one  can't 
hide  the  fact.  You  had  a  full  right  to  cast  him  off,  and  you 
were  n't  answerable  for  any  consequences." 

"  I  oucrht  never  to  have  cast  him  on,"  said  Helen,  at- 
tempting  to  answer  her  father  in  a  tone  as  light  as  his  own. 
"  If  I  had  n't  been  led — but  I  don't  excuse  myself, — dear 
papa,  please  don't  teach  me  to  do  so." 

"  That  German  woman  was  a  desperate  humbug  !  "  said 
Sir  Henry.  "  Ah.  Helen  !  if  I  had  a  wish — but,  however, 
you  are  free,  I  always  told  you  so.  By  the  bye,  I  sent 
Pietro  to  the  Post,  and  the  Aquila  Nera,  this  morning  to 
inquire  for  Claude,  but  I  could  n't  find  out  anything.  Three 
English  gentlemen  slept  at  the  Post,  but  they  were  off  at 
seven,  and  forgot  to  put  their  names  in  the  book.  If  we  do 
come  up  with  him,  it  would  be  pleasant  enough  for  me;  but 
I  don't  know  about  you,  child.  "What  do  you  say?"  Sir 
Henry  put  his  hand  under  Helen's  chin,  and  made  her  look 
at  him. 

"I  suppose  we  should  manage  pretty  well,"  was  Helen's 
constrained  answer,  and  she  turned  away,  and  knocked  at 
Lady  Augusta's  door. 

Annette  answered  the  knock  "  Miladi  is  just  ready  j 
she  comes  to  breakfast  this  instant !  Ah  !  the  coffee  not 
up;  stop,  you  go  to  Miladi,  mademoiselle.     Thi  bag 

is   to   be   locked;    then    Pietro    will    come  for  it;  are 
ready?     And  Miss  Graham:— you  tell   Miss   Graham,  *be 
must  not  wait.     Why  don't  they  bring  the  coffee?" 


192  ivoks. 

Annette  bustled  herself  out  of  the  ante-room,  catching 
up  stray  articles  in  her  way,  to  be  thrust  into  a  certain  bag 
kept  for  emergencies  and  last  hopes,  and  Helen  went  to  Lady 
Augusta. 

"  Papa  says  you  slept  well,  dear  mamma ;  I  am  so  glad. 
Is  there  anything  else  to  be  put  into  the  carpet  bag  ?  Let 
me  fasten  your  boot  for  you." 

"  Stop,  Helen  ;  the  floor  is  so  dirty ;  you  must  not  kneel 
upon  it;"  and  Lady  Augusta  laid  her  handkerchief  on  the 
ground.  "  Such  a  nasty  place  this  is  !  I  wonder  why  we 
came  here  ;  we  would  have  paid  handsomely  for  better 
rooms." 

"  We  are  going  on  to  Venice,  you  know,  mamma,"  said 
Helen ;  "  we  shall  find  beautiful  hotels  there,  which  once 
were  palaces.  You  must  come  and  have  some  breakfast,  and 
then  we  shall  start ;  and  such  a  lovely  day !  You  will  like 
to  have  your  breakfast,"  she  repeated,  trying  to  draw  away 
Lady  Augusta's  attention  from  the  little  courtyard  under- 
neath the  window,  where  Pietro,  surrounded  by  peasants  and 
ostlers,  was  employed  in  packing  the  carriage. 

"  I  don't  know  the  good  of  going  to  Venice  ;  I  shan't  be 
better  there.  English  people  are  n't  wise  to  come  abroad. 
Annette  tells  me  that  there  are  more  English  people  here ; 
she  says  that  Claude  has  come  after  you,  Helen.  But  it's 
no  use  for  him  ;  it's  no  use  for  any  one.  You  never  mean 
to  please  me." 

"  I  would  try  to  please  you  in  any  way  I  could,  dear 
mamma."  Helen  spoke  very  calmly ;  she  had  been  now  too 
long  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  reproach  to  be  shocked  at  it, 
and  she  took  it  as  part  of  her  punishment.  "  But  you  will 
come  to  breakfast ;  the  coffee  will  be  cold." 

She  led  Lady  Augusta  into  the  ante-room,  poured  out 
her  coffee,  cut  her  roll  in  slices,  and  took  care  that  there 
should  be  just  enough  chicken  placed  on  her  plate,  and  then 


ivors.  193 

Lady  Augusta  for  the  first  time  said,  "  Thank  you ;  and 
Helen  sat  down  contented. 

"  The  carriage  is  ready,  Miladi.  Sir  Henry  is  waiting. 
Let  me  take  the  carriage  bag.  Mademoiselle,  you  carry  the 
book.  Miss  Graham, — ah  me  !  where  is  Miss  Graham  ? 
Too  tiresome  !  Miladi,  you  won't  go  alone  ;  nobody  else  will 
put  you  comfortable.  Miss  Graham  ! "  Annette  rushed  to 
Susan's  door. 

"  Miss  Graham  is  gone  down,"  said  Helen.  "  She  is 
never  late." 

"  Never  !  a  long  day  !  "  Annette  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  But  we  come ;  we  leave  ce  vilain  lieu.  Ah  les  montagncs  ! 
que  je  les  detest e  !  "  and  she  shook  her  hand  at  the  window-, 
in  defiance  of  the  green  hills  which  looked  down  upon  the 
little  inn. 

Sir  Henry  was  examining  the  horses,  and  talking  to 
Pietro.     Susan  stood  by  him. 

"  Capo  di  Pontc,  you  say  ?     I  don't  see  it  mentioned." 

"  Capo  di  Ponte ;  good  beds  at  Capo  di  Ponte,"  said  the 
landlord,  proud  of  the  first  English  words  he  had  learnt. 

"  Who  told  you  about  Capo  di  Pontc,  Pietro  ?  "  asked 
Susan. 

Sir  Henry  turned  round  quickly.  "  You  here,  Susan  ! 
how  you  startled  me!  Better  get  into  the  carriage,  child, 
and  settle  yourself." 

But  Susan  lingered;  Sir  Henry  was  impatient.  "I 
shall  manage  it  all  ;   don't  be  fidgety." 

She  could  not  help  herself  then;  but  she  leaned  out  of 
the  carriage  to  hear  Pietr  er. 

"  A  man  at  the  Post,  who  saw  the  English  parly  off 
this  morning,"  replied  Pietro.  •'  They  don't  go  there  them- 
selves; they  stop  short  at  Longarone;  bul  thai  makes  to- 
morrow's journey  tOO  lODg." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand.     We  get  to  Treviso  to-morrow. 


194  ivoes. 

No  chance  of  coming  up  with  Claude  Egerton  then,  if  it 
should  be  he." 

Susan  put  down  her  veil,  and  was  so  interested  in  ob- 
serving Annette's  final  adjustment  of  boxes  and  carpet  bags, 
that  she  averted  her  face  completely  from  Lady  Augusta  and 
Helen,  not  even  looking  round,  when  Helen  urged  that  they 
should  change  places,  and  asserted  that  the  back  seat,  on 
such  a  fine  day,  could  not  make  her  uncomfortable. 

There  is  a  great  charm,  doubtless,  in  visiting  a  country 
long  familiar  to  us  by  description,  and  which  we  have,  as  it 
were,  made  part  of  our  own  by  experience ;  but  there  is  a 
greater  still  in  that  which  we  know  only  by  its  place  in  the 
map,  and  the  loveliness  of  which  we  discover,  as  for  the  first 
time,  for  ourselves.  The  mountains  of  Friuli  around  Tai  de 
Cadore  may,  perhaps,  bring  to  us  but  few  associations;  yet, 
if  we  have  ever  looked  at  the  background  of  Titian's  pictures, 
we  may  see  the  impression  which  they  made  upon  a  mighty 
genius,  and  may  trace  the  scenes  impressed  upon  his  childish 
imagination,  with  all  the  brilliancy  belonging  to  early  age, 
and  scarcely  to  be  diminished,  even  when  revisited  in  after 
years,  and  criticised  by  the  sober  judgment,  and  with  the 
careworn  feeling  of  manhood. 

For,  in  truth,  it  is  a  glorious  country.  Jagged  moun- 
tains, their  summits  occasionally  tipped  with  snow ;  lesser 
hills  covered  with  wood,  with  here  and  there  huge  yellowish 
crags,  giving  a  peculiar  warmth  of  colouring  to  the  scenery ; 
deep  rocky  ravines ;  villages,  and  churches,  dotted  about  on 
all  sides ;  and  the  ruins  of  ancient  castles,  proudly  looking 
down  upon  them  from  the  projecting  cliffs ;  and  all  felt, 
rather  than  seen,  beneath  the  blue  Italian  sky,  and  under 
the  soothing  influence  of  the  southern  air  ! — it  is  a  land  to 
dream  of.  When  it  has  passed,  and  memory  recurs  to  it,  it 
is  with  a  strange,  incredulous  doubt  whether  the  eye,  now 
profaned  by  common  sights,  can  ever  have  been  permitted  to 
gaze  upon  such  a  vision  of  beauty. 


ivors.  195 

Helen  and  Susan  leaned  over  the  carriage,  drinking  in 
with  delight  the  views  which  every  turn  of  the  road  brought 
before  them,  whilst  even  Lady  Augusta  was  sometimes  roused 
to  observation,  and  owned  that  it  was  much  warmer  and 
pleasanter  in  Italy  than  in  the  Tyrol.  They  were  descend- 
ing into  the  valley  at  an  easy  pace,  following  the  course  of 
the  little  river  Piave.  Sir  Henry  having  satisfied  himself 
that  it  was  a  splendid  country,  was  looking  out  for  Perarollo, 
"'Inn  fair,' "  as  he  informed  them,  after  due  consultation 
with  Murray.  There  they  were  to  dine ;  there  he  hoped 
that  they  might  get  something  fit  for  Lady  Augusta  to  eat. 
"  You  need  n't  look  scoimful,  Helen ;  rocks  and  mountains 
won't  keep  you  alive.  AVhat  does  Pietro  say,  I  wonder?" 
and  touching  Annette,  who  was  seated  on  the  carriage  box, 
he  told  her  to  inquire  how  long  it  would  be  before  they 
reached  Perarollo. 

"  Un  petit  qaa.it  J'heurc,  Sir  Henry.  Is  Miladi  tired  :  " 
was  Annette's  anxious  reply. 

"  Trois  quart-d'heures,  you  mean,  Annette.  Always 
multiply  by  three,  when  you  are  travelling.  You  have  no 
biscuits  with  you,  I  suppose  ?  Lady  Augusta  looks  as  if  she 
would  like  something." 

"  Des  biscuits  I  non.  Ce  vilain  pays  !  Bread  very  bad  ; 
sandwiches  never  heard  of;  how  do  the  people  live.  Ah! 
quel  costume!''''  and  forgetting  Lady  Augusta,  Annette  lilt- 
ed up  her  hands  in  astonishment,  as  a  peasant  girl  pa 
them,  with  the  Tyrolean  man'.-;  hat,  a  gown  made  of  a  blue 
bodice  and  red  skirt,  and  wearing  a  silver  necklace,  with  a 
cross  depending  from  it. 

"She  is  stopped  to  be  drawn.     Ce  sont  des  Anglais ! " 
called  out  Annette,  in  delight,  looking  back  as  the 
went  on.     "See,ther<  are   ome  gentlemen  sketching.     Look, 
mademoiselle,  look." 

Helen  did  not  take  tin'  trouble  to  turn  round,  but  Su 


196  ivors. 

from  the  back  seat,  did  "what  she  thought  would  please  An- 
nette, and  bent  forward. 

"  Did  you  see  them,  Susan  ?  "  asked  Helen,  laughing  ; 
"  were  they  English  wild  animals  ?  " 

"  They  are  gone  now,"  said  Susan ;  "  or  rather  we  are. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  look  at  Murray  ?  "  she  added,  taking 
the  book  from  its  place  by  Sir  Henry's  side. 

Susan  was  busy  with  the  guide  book  for  more  than  the 
"  petit  quart-d'heure "  of  which  Annette  had  spoken ;  but 
just  as  they  began  to  descend  the  wonderful  zig-zag  road 
which  carries  the  traveller  from  the  Alpine  scenery  around 
Cadore  into  the  picturesque  little  village  of  Perarollo,  she 
gave  it  as  the  result  of  her  researches,  that  if  they  had  set 
off  earlier,  and  had  chosen  to  stop  on  the  road,  they  might 
have  visited  Pieve  di  Cadore,  the  birthplace  of  Titian. 

"  I  suppose  the  people  we  passed  had  been  doing  that," 
*aid  Helen. 

A  remark  to  which  no  reply  was  obtained. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

"Now,  Susan,  mamma  is  comfortable  and  Annette  looking 
after  her,  shall  we  attempt  a  sketch  ?  "  said  Helen.  The  first 
Italian  dinner  was  concluded;  and  Lady  Augusta,  having 
acknowledged  that  certainly,  though  the  place  was  so  misera- 
ble and  dirty,  they  did  manage  to  send  up  things  in  a  very 
different  way  from  the  Tyrol,  had  taken  to  her  crochet,  as 
Annette  remarked,  quite  kindly,  and  would  no  doubt  be 
willing  to  sit  quiet  till  Pietro  was  ready. 

They  left  the  little  inn,  and  strolled  through  the  village, 
scattered  at  the  foot  of  steep  hills,  and  affording  scarcely  any 
level  ground  except  the  high  road. 


itors.  197 

"  It  is  beyond  sketching."  said  Susan,  as  sbe  glanced  at 
the  wall  of  cliff  by  which  they  had  descended  into  the  village, 
and  alone  the  face  of  which  the  road  could  be  traced  in  lines 
which  seemed  at  a  distance  nearly  horizontal. 

"Cowardly,  that  is,"  exclaimed  Helen.  "If  I  don't 
please  other  people  in  sketching,  I  please  myself,  even  if  I 
can  only  make  half-a-dozen  strokes.  Just  see  what  a  picture 
that  would  be,  where  the  water  is  rushing  from  above,  de- 
scending, one  cannot  see  how,  from  the  hills.  The  meeting 
of  the  Piave  and what  is  the  other  river  ?  " 

"  The  Bolte.  But  they  scarcely  look  like  natural  streams. 
They  must  have  been  pent  up,  I  fancy,  artificially,  and  are 
like  foaming  English  mill  streams.  I  suppose  if  one  asked 
why  it  was  done  one  should  not  comprehend  the  answer. 
Oh.  dear  !  one's  ignorance  !  Is  there  anything  like  travelling 
to  make  one  understand  how  great  it  is?" 

••  Natural  or  artificial,"  said  Helen,  in  a  determined  tone, 
"I  shall  try  it."  And  she  seated  herself  upon  a  low  wall  by 
the  side  of  the  river,  facing  the  mountainous  zig-zag  road  and 
the  raviue  through  which  the  water  had  forced  its  way  as  it 
descended  from  the  hills. 

"  And  I  shall  walk  on  a  little  further  aud  see  how  the 
village  looks  from  the  heights,''  s-.id  Susan.  "  I  can't  sketch 
to-day." 

The  accent  of  her  voice  struck  Helen  ;  and  she  said,  a 
little  uneasily,  "  You  are  not  well." 

"  Not  so  very,  as  people  say.  The  carriage  tire-  me,  1 
shall  be  all  the  better  for  a  walk  ;  ami  I  like  ;■>  )„■  alone,  in- 
deed I  do  :  you  know  I  am  always  honest." 

''Yes,  alwi  lid   Helen,   heartily.     "But,  Susan,  I 

think  sometimes  that  in  caring  for  mamma  we  don'<  care  t'"r 
you." 

"  I  can  care  for  myself,"  -aid  Susan.  '•  Besides,  why 
should  I  be  thought  of  more  than  you?" 


198  IYOKS. 

"  Because  I  have  been  thought  of  all  my  life,"  said  Helen  ; 
"  and  it  has  spoilt  me.  That  is  not  bitterness,  but  truth ; 
and  I  am  learning  to  bear  it.  Now  go  ;  if  we  begin  talking 
I  shall  never  sketch.     Remember,  we  have  only  an  hour." 

Susan  lingered  for  a  moment,  and  then  slowly  pursued 
her  solitary  way. 

Strange  it  seemed  to  herself  that  she  should  be  so  un- 
changed, so  English  still,  so  wrapt  up  in  home  and  home 
feelings,  in  what  almost  seemed  selfishness.  Here,  in  that 
remote  village,  hidden  amongst  the  vast  hills  whose  existence 
she  had  scarcely  before  realised,  and  with  the  scenes  through 
which  she  had  previously  passed, — the  Rhine  and  its  bright 
beauty  and  historical  associations, — Munich,  with  its  glorious 
galleries  of  art, — Innsbruck,  the  city  of  the  noble  Peasant 
land,  all  fresh  in  her  recollection,  it  seemed  hard  that  she 
should  still  be  the  same.  She  had  rested  upon  the  hope  that 
travelling  would  bring  forgetfulness,  though  what  she  wished 
to  forget  she  would  not  trust  herself  to  acknowledge. 

But  even  amidst  the  charms  of  that  surpassing  beauty, 
Susan  felt  herself  to  be  living  in  the  past.  The  bodily  eye 
rested  upon  the  mountains  of  Italy ;  but  the  eye  of  the  mind 
travelled  back  to  the  chamber  of  death,  the  stealthy  footsteps, 
the  hushed  voices,  the  fervent  prayer,  the  dying  grasp  which 
had  joined  her  hand  with  Claude's,  the  voice  that  had  whis- 
pered to  him  to  be  kind. 

And  he  had  been  kind,  to  her  mother,  and  Isabella,  and 
Anna,  to  herself  also,  in  those  first  days  of  sorrow.  But 
since  then  they  had  never  met.  Lady  Augusta's  illness  had 
summoned  Mrs.  Graham  and  Susan  to  London;  and  Claude, 
though  constant  in  his  inquiries,  had  never  appeared  in 
Grosvenor  Place.  She  would  probably  seldom  see  him  again. 
He  could  not  come  to  Ivors,  and  there  was  little  to  call  him 
to  Wingfield ;  and  in  London  Susan  would  most  likely  be  at 
Grosvenor  Place,  and  Claude  would  therefore  never  come  in 


ivors.  199 

her  way.  They  were  separated  by  circumstances :  it  was 
the  will  of  God,  and  doubtless  it  was  well  that  it  should 
be  so. 

It  was  foolish  to  think  of  him  now,  very  unwise  to  dwell 
upon  the  distant  probability  that  he  had  followed  them 
abroad,  and  that  they  should  meet.  Certainly  the  voice 
they  had  heard  was  like  his,  the  figure  at  the  side  of  the  road 
resembled  him,  but  the  last  thing  he  would  be  likely  to  do 
would  be  to  take  their  route,  even  if  he  were  abroad  :  he  evi- 
dently dreaded  so  much  to  meet  Helen.  If  he  had  made  the 
inquiries  which  Isabella  mentioned,  it  must  have  been  with 
the  view  of  avoiding  them. 

And  now — yes,  the  point  was  quite  settled;  a  carriage 
was  descending  the  hill,  two  gentlemen  in  it,  a  stout,  elderly 
man,  and  a  tall,  slight  youth;  it  must  have  been  he  that  she 
had  mistaken  for  Claude.  Susan  felt  a  sudden  pang,  then  a 
great  sense  of  relief.  She  stood  upon  a  bank  to  escape  the 
dust ;  the  carriage  drove  past,  the  gentlemen  looking  at  her 
curiously.  When  it  was  gone  she  did  not  feel  any  inclination 
to  ascend  the  road  higher,  and,  seeing  a  little  mountain  path 
leading  to  a  cottage  above  the  bank,  she  pursued  it  for  some 
distance,  and  then  sat  down  to  rest. 

Her  mind  was  quieter  now,  more  in  its  ordinary  state; 
and  she  took  out  her  sketch  book,  ashamed  of  the  indolence 
which  had  prevented  her  from  using  it  before.  But  the  situ- 
ation whicL  she  had  chosen  was  not  favourable,  and  she 
moved  on.  A  piece  of  rock  close  to  her  was  inviting  tor  a 
foreground  ;  and  passing  round  at  the  back,  she  came  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  in  sight  of  Claude  Egertbn. 

It  could  be  no  other  than  he.  His  back  was  towards 
her,  he  was  drawing;  but  there  was  no  mistaking  him,  he 
was  the  traveller  whom  she  had  seen  by  the  roadside;  be 
ought  to  have  made  the  third  in  the  carriage  which  had  just 
driven  by.      She  drew  back  behind  the  rock,  lrer  limbs  treui- 


200  rvoKS. 

bling  so  that  she  could  not  stand :  and  seating  herself  on 
the  ground  she  threw  aside  her  sketch  book,  and  thought — 
she  knew  not  of  what,  only  she  seemed  chained  to  the  spot, 
and  minutes  appeared  hours,  as  she  expected  every  instant  to 
see  Claude  descend  the  bank  into  the  road-,  and  pass  away 
from  her  sight. 

The  rush  of  the  brawling,  mingling  little  rivers  below 
deadened  every  other  sound,  so  that  Susan  could  not  hear 
if  Claude  moved ;  and  the  rock  was  so  situated  that  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  go  back  to  the  road  without  her  seeing 
him.  The  idea  did  not  strike  her  for  some  seconds;  when  it 
did  she  instinctively  altered  her  position  a  few  paces,  and  in 
doing  so,  the  sketch  book  fell  out  of  her  hand  and  rolled 
down  the  bank. 

Claude  saw  it,  hurried  after  it,  and  looking  round  for  the 
owner,  confronted  Susan.  His  start  of  surprise  and  pleasure 
told  his  tale  instantly — the  meeting  was  accidental.  But  he 
came  up  to  her,  his  face  radiant  with  delight. 

"  3Iiss  Graham  here  !  alone !  how  strange  !  how  very  sat- 
isfactory !  " 

"  Not  quite  alone,"  said  Susan;  and  her  face  was  crim- 
soned with  a  deep  blush.  "  I  have  left  the  rest  of  the  party 
in  the  village." 

"  But  you  are  alone  for  the  moment.  Stay,  will  you 
not  ?  "  As  Susan  moved  down  the  bank,  he  stopped  her. 
"  I  have  so  many  things  to  say,  and  I  so  little  expected  this 
pleasure.     I  did  not  know  you  were  in  Italy." 

"  "\\  e  talked  of  Salzburg  and  Vienna,  when  we  left 
home,"  said  Susan  ;  "  but  it  was  Helen's  wish  to  see  Italy." 

His  face  changed  instantly.  He  said  in  an  altered,  quiet 
tone,  "  Is  Helen — is  Miss  Clare  well  ?  " 

"  Tolerable,  better  than  she  was  in  London ;  but  won't 
you  come?"  Susan,  in  her  agitation,  forgot  everything  but 
her  wish  to  escape  being  alone  with  Claude. 


IYOKS.  201 

"  No  ;  I  can't  come.  "Wait,  please  ;  don't  leave  me  yet." 
Claude  stood  still,  and  Susan  was  obliged  to  do  the  same. 
"  Tell  me  about  Lady  Augusta." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Her  bodily  health  improves; 
but  the  mind  is  a  wreck." 

"  Such  a  shock  !  such  a  terrible  shock  for  all !  "  he  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  Can  you  enjoy  yourselves  ?  It  is  very 
splendid."     And  he  looked  round  at  the  mountains. 

"  "We  enjoy  it  immensely  at  times,"  said  Susan.  "  Per- 
haps we  should  enjoy  it  too  much  if  we  had  no  cares." 

"  Yourself  still,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  It  makes  me  almost 
a  boy  again.     Are  you  staying  here  ?  " 

"  No;  we  are  on  our  way  to  Venice." 

His  face  lighted  up  brilliantly ;  but  a  cloud  soon  came 
over  it  again.  "  Venice  is  our  destination  too ;  but  I  don't 
know  when  we  shall  be  there.  I  am  under  Captain  Hume's 
orders.  You  remember  him;  Sir  John  Hume's  brother. 
He  has  come  abroad  for  his  son's  health.  Sir  John  and  his 
family  are  at  Yeuice;  and  we  are  to  meet  them  there.  Do 
you  go  on  to  Venice  immediately  ?  "  he  added. 

"  I  believe  so;  but  Sir  Henry  will  tell  you  everything. 
He  will  be  terribly  vexed  if  he  does  n't  see  you.  And  we 
are  intending  to  set  Dff  again  directly." 

"Like  ourselves;  strange  that  we  should  be  travelling 
the  same  road.  I  can  give  you  no  news  from  home,  I  sup- 
pose;  you  must  have  heard  since  I  left  England.  I  was  at 
Wingfield,  and  saw  them  all; — your  mother,  and  Anna,  and 
Isabella.  Is  that  very  impertinent  ? "  he  added  with  a 
doubtful  smile;  "  and,  shall  I  confess?  sometimes,  when  you 
are  not  present,  I  say,  Susan." 

"I  like  you  to  say  it,"  replied  Susan.  She  spoke  the 
words  eagerly,  yet  corrected  herself  directly,  and  added,  with 
some  BtiftheBS,  "  I  like  you  to  do  what  ifl  most  pleasant  to 
yourself." 


202  ivoes. 

He  seemed  thrown  back  for  a  moment,  and  answered, 
"  Home  ties  and  home  friendships  are  strong  in  a  foreign 
land ;  you  must  forgive  me.  Did  you  say  that  Sir  Henry 
was  to  be  found  at  the  inn  ?  " 

"  I  think  so ;  but  I  am  not  sure.  We  left  him  there. 
Helen  and  I  came  out  together." 

"  Miss  Clare  is  with  you  then  ? "  He  glanced  round 
anxiously. 

"  She  is  sketching  in  the  village.  It  is  good  for  her  to 
be  away  from  Lady  Augusta,  when  she  can  be ;  it  is  such  a 
wearing  life." 

"  And  Helen  waits  upon  Lady  Augusta  entirely,  does 
she  ?     I  heard  so  in  Loudon." 

"  She  would  wait  upon  her  more,  if  she  were  allowed," 
said  Susan.  "  But  Lady  Augusta  is  very  strange.  No  one 
but  Annette  knows  how  to  manage  her.  It  frets  Helen," 
she  continued:  "  she  reproaches  herself." 

"  I  don't  know  why  she  should,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  I  ought  to  reproach  myself,  if  any  one  does,"  said 
Susan.  "  But  I  don't,"  she  added  ■  "  I  feel  I  am  not  an- 
swerable for  consequences  if  I  did  right."  And  she  raised 
her  eyes  with  confidence  to  Claude's  face. 

"  You  don't  doubt  it  ?  you  can't  think  any  one  would 
blame  you  for  an  instant,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I,  for  one,  thank 
you  from  my  heart." 

His  voice  shook ;  and  he  hurried  on  a  few  paces  before 
Susan,  but  turned  to  assist  her  down  the  bank. 

"  There  is  Helen,"  said  Susan,  "  sitting  on  the  little  wall 
by  the  river.     Don't  you  see  her  ?  " 

Claude  had  observed  her  long  before  Susan  pointed  her 
out ;  but  now.  when  his  attention  was  drawn  towards  her,  he 
seemed  disinclined  to  go  on. 

"  She  has  seen  us,"  continued  Susan.  "  Look,  she  is 
coming  towards  us." 


itors.  203 

Helen  made  a  few  steps  to  meet  them,  then  turned  and 
walked  rapidly  back  to  the  inn. 

"  I  see  ;  it  is  as  I  feared.  My  presence  is  unwelcome," 
said  Claude,  rather  bitterly. 

"  You  must  not  judge  her  hardly,"  replied  Susan.  "  It 
is  only  awkwardness." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  But  I  don't  wish  to  make  her 
feel  awkward.  I  trust  to  you  ;  you  will  make  Sir  Henry 
understand  why  I  did  not  wait.  I  trust  entirely  to  you." 
He  drew  off  his  glove  to  shake  hands ;  but  just  at  that  mo- 
ment Sir'Henry  came  up. 

"  Claude,  my  dear  fellow  !  "  Sir  Henry  grasped  Claude's 
hand  with  both  his.  "  Where  in  the  world  did  you  drop 
from,  I  should  say,  only  I  have  heard  all  about  you.  I  met 
Captain  Hume  and  George.  How  ill  the  boy  looks !  but 
this  air  is  sure  to  do  him  good.  So  you  are  going  on  our 
road  Come  in,  we  have  just  ten  minutes  before  we  start; 
Hume  and  his  son  said  they  were  going  to  walk  about  a 
little  before  dinner,  so  they  won't  want  you;  and  Lady  Au- 
gusta and  Helen "  Sir   Henry  checked  the  words  which 

would  naturally  have  followed,  and  added  mournfully,  "  You 
will  iind  Lady  Augusta  changed ;  but  she  will  like  to  see  an 
old  fiiend." 

"  Are  you  sure  I  sha'n't  intrude  ?  "  asked  Claude,  draw- 
ing back. 

"  Not  a  bit,  man.  Intrude  !  It  will  do  her  good.  I 
told  her  you  were  here  ;  and  Helen  said " 

"  Lid  Miss  Clara  think  it  wise  ?  I  should  fear  it  might 
do  harm,"  continued  Claude. 

"Nonsense,  my  good  fellow!  I  saw  Helen  a  moment 
:i<ro  ;  and  she  said  it  was  best  to  take  all  things  naturally, 
and  Helen  knows  best.  She  is  devoted  to  Lady  Augusta, — 
a  pattern  daughter,  I  must  s;iv  that  lor  her." 

Sir    Henry    drew    Claude   into    the   passage  of  the    inn, 


204:  ivors. 

without  allowing  him  time  for  any  further  excuses.  He 
seemed  in  a  nervous  hurry  to  have  the  meeting  over,  and 
would  not  take  Claude's  suggestion  that  he  should  be  an- 
nounced before  making  his  appearance  in  Lady  Augusta's 
presence. 

"  Better  not,  much  better  not.  She  will  only  work  her- 
self up  into  an  agitation.  It  will  do  all  very  well  if  it  comes 
naturally,  as  Helen  says."  Sir  Henry  entered  the  room  • 
and  Claude  stood  at  the  entrance.  Lady  Augusta  was  sitting 
with  her  back  to  the  door,  looking  out  of  the  window;  ber 
crochet  work  lay  in  her  lap ;  she  had  her  hand  upon  it ;  and 
I  lelen  was  trying  gently  to  disengage  it  from  her,  whilst 
Annette  stood  by  threateningly,  saying  that,  if  they  did  not 
start  directly,  it  would  be  the  last  night  over  again,  they 
should  not  be  in  till  dark.  It  was  the  old  trouble ;  where 
Lady  Augusta  was,  there  she  chose  to  remain,  at  least  when- 
ever she  was  asked  to  go.  There  was  the  long  indulged  de- 
termination of  her  natural  character,  only  now  with  very 
little  reason  to  control  it. 

"  Dear  mamma,  I  think  you  will  let  me  put  up  your  cro- 
chet," said  Helen ;  "  it  will  be  quite  ready  for  you  to  begin 
again  when  we  stop  by  and  by." 

"  I  don't  wist,  to  stop,"  began  Lady  Augusta ;  but  Sir 
Henry  came  forward,  and  his  step  made  his  wife  start,  and 
caused  Helen  to  take  her  hand,  and  say  soothingly,  as  she 
glanced  at  the  door,  "  Here  is  papa  come  to  tell  us  that 
we  must  go  ;  and  he  has  brought  Claude  Egerton  to  see 
you  for  a  minute ;  he  is  travelling  the  same  way  that  we 
are." 

Her  voice  did  not  tremble  in  the  least ;  but  Claude's 
was  scarcely  audible,  as  he  obeyed  a  sign  m  ide  by  Sir  Henry, 
and  approached,  and  shook  hands,  first  with  Lady  Augusta, 
then  with  Helen,  and  said  to  the  latter,  "  I  hope  you  are 
better  than  you  were  when  I  heard  of  you  in  London  ?  " 


itors.  205 

Lady  Augusta  appeared  to  Lave  some  difficulty  at  first  in 
recognising  him.  Presently,  however,  a  gleam  of  pleasure 
came  over  her  face,  and  she  said  it  was  very  kind  of  Claude  ; 
he  always  was  kind  ;  now  he  was  come,  she  did  not  see  why 
they  might  not  all  go  back  to  England  together." 

Claude  turned  his  head  away ;  for  a  tear  dimmed  his 
eye, 

"  It's  a  bad  time  of  the  day  with  her,"  whispered  Sir 
Henry.  "  She  was  much  better  at  starting.  Augusta,  my 
dear,  you  will  like  to  think  that  we  shall  have  a  friend  at 
Venice,  when  we  get  there." 

"  Are  you  coming  with  us  ?  "  Lady  Augusta  for  a  mo- 
ment spoke  quite  like  herself;  aud  Helen  looked  up  eagerly 
at  Claude,  but  bent  her  head  again  as  she  caught  his  eye  fixed 
upon  her. 

"  You  must  promise  to  meet  us  again,"  said  Sir  Henry. 
u  Anything  belonging  to  home  does  her  good,  though  jM ark- 
ham  declared  change  was  the  only  thing  needed.  It  is  so, 
isn't  it,  Helen?"  he  added,  observing  Claude's  doubtful  face. 

And  Helen  answered,  with  sad  composure,  "  I  hope  it 
may  do  good  ;  I  think  she  likes  it."  She  addressed  herself 
again  to  Lady  Augusta.  "I  think,  mamma,  you  had  better 
come  into  tue  nest  room,  and  put  your  bonnet  aud  shawl  on. 
Claude  will  not  go  till  we  return." 

She  appealed  to  Claude  as  she  might  have  done  in  other 
day?.  His  thoughts  were  quite  occupied  with  Lady  Augusta. 
He  answered  directly,  "No,  indeed;  we  have  to  wait  here 
more  than  half  an  hour  longer  to  rest  the  horses." 

"And  Claude  will  meet  us  at  Venice,  my  dear,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Henry.  "  You  must,"  he  added,  as  Lady  An. 
ta  at  Length  unwillingly  rose  from  her  seat,  and  followed 
B<  Len's  suggestion.  "  It  was  just  the  chance  how  she  might 
receive  you  ;  but  it  dues  her  good  evidently.  So  we  shall 
depend  on  you." 


206  ivoes. 

Claude's  answer  was  unsatisfactory.  "  My  movements 
depend  upon  others.  It  is  possible  Captain  Hume  may  be 
summoned  to  Milan  to  meet  a  relation;  if  so,  I  shall  pro- 
bably go  with  him  there,  and  then  make  my  way  back  to 
Venice  a  week  hence  by  another  route.  Whether  we  return 
to  England  by  Austria  or  France  is  equally  uncertain." 

"  The  blessing  of  travelling  like  an  independent  gentle- 
man, without  incumbrance  ! "  said  Sir  Henry, — and  there 
was  an  accent  of  real  sadness  under  his  assumed  cheerful- 
ness. "■  With  three  ladies  one  is  under  strict  orders."  He 
looked  round.  "  What,  Susan,  here  still !  we  seem  to  have 
quite  forgotten  you,  child." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  replied  Susan  ;  "  it  did  not  strike  me." 
She  was  sitting  down  by  the  table,  her  bag  and  parasol  in 
her  hand,  quite  ready  to  go. 

"  Persons  who  are  always  remembering  others  must  make 
up  their  minds  to  be  often  forgotten  themselves,"  said  Claude, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  dare  say  you  have  never  once  been  late 
during  the  whole  journey." 

"  I  have  only  myself  to  take  care  of,"  said  Susan. 

"  Helen  is  very  much  improved  in  that  respect,  I  must 
say,"  observed  Sir  Henry ;  "  she  makes  a  great  effort,  and 
then  she  is  generally  helping  her  mamma.  I  think,  Susan, 
I  had  better  go  and  see  that  the  carriage  is  all  right ;  and 
you  can  bring  Lady  -Augusta  down  after  me."  Sir  Henry, 
always  restless  when  upon  the  point  of  starting,  hurried 
down  stairs. 

Claude  drew  near  to  Susan  when  Sir  Henry  was  gone. 
"  Must  I  come  to  Venice  ?  "  he  said ;  "  you  will  tell  me." 

Susan  answered  hurriedly,  "  I  don't  know, — I  can't  say. 
Do  you  mean  about  Lady  Augusta  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  will  it  do  her  harm  ?  I  am  sure  you  will  judge 
better  than  Sir  Henry." 

"  Helen  will  know  best,"  said  Susan,  rising;  "  I  will  call 
her." 


IYORS.  207 

"  No,  do  !  I  entreat  you  not."  He  put  out  his  hand  to 
detain  her.  "  Excuse  me,  I  would  much  rather  trust  to  you. 
Can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  excitement,"  said  Susan,  coldly. 
He  looked  exceedingly  pained.     "  I  was  afraid  so.    Thank 
you  for  telling  me.     I  will  take  care,  even  if  we  should  un- 
fortunately be  in  Venice  together." 

"  But  I  am  not  sure  ;  I  can't  really  say.  If  you  would 
only  let  me  ask  Helen."  Susan  was  evidently  distressed  at 
the  strong  effect  of  her  words. 

"  No,  "not  on  any  account."  He  spoke  almost  impatient- 
ly, and  added,  "  It  has  been  a  great  pleasure,  seeing  you 
here.  You  don't  know  how  I  long  for  sights  and  faces  akin 
to  home.  You  won't  think  that  weak,"  he  added,  with  a 
marked  emphasis  ;   "  you  understand  always.  " 

Susan  bent  her  head  down,  and  searched  for  something 
in  her  carriage-bag. 

Claude  waited  for  a  moment,  and,  as  he  heard  a  hand  laid 
on  the  handle  of  the  door  opening  into  the  inner  room, 
added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  One  thing  more  you  will  tell  me  : 
Helen, — is  she  happy?  that  is,  as  she  can  be  under  such  cir- 
cumstances ?  " 

"  Happier  than  she  ever  was  before,"  said  Susan  ;  '■  .she 
is  so  good  !  " 

Helen  came  in;  and  Claude  withdrew  from  Susan  in 
evident  embarrassment. 

Lady  Augusta  looked  more  her  former  self  in  her  trav- 
elling-dress ;  the  bonnet-cap  helped  to  iill  up  the  hollows  of 
her  face,  and  made  her  appear  less  thill  ;  and  the  shawl  cov- 
ered her  tall,  spare  figure,  now  bent  from  illness.  Claude 
gave  her  his  arm  to  take  her  down  stairs ;  and  she  went 
with  him,  talking  all  the  way  of  their  meeting,  and  urging 
him  td  join  them  at  Venice:  she  was  bo  eager,  thai  it  was 
almost  impossible  not  to  promise.     Helen  followed  with  Su- 


208  ivoes. 

san.  As  they  stepped  into  the  carriage,  Helen  offered  her 
hand  to  Claude,  and  said,  "  Mamma  wishes  it;  and  we  shall 
all  be  glad  to  see  you." 

There  was  very  little  constraint  in  her  manner ;  but  she 
did  not  speak  to  him  again,  though  he  stood  by  the  carriage 
for  several  minutes  whilst  they  were  waiting  for  Pietro. 

Susan  had  the  last  pressure  of  his  hand,  the  last  smile, 
and  the  last  words,  spoken  in  an  under  tone  of  friendly,  al- 
most affectionate  confidence  : — "  Still  I  trust  to  you  more 
than  to  any  one  else." 

Lady  Augusta  was  the  only  person  inclined  to  talk  for 
the  next  quarter  of  an  hour.  Helen  answered  her,  but  with 
an  effort  which  any  other  person  would  have  perceived.  Sir 
Henry  studied  Murray,  being  determined,  as  he  said,  to  get 
at  Venice  properly ;  and  Susan's  eye  followed  the  course  of 
the  Piave,  as  it  made  its  way  through  the  ravine  which  they 
had  just  entered,  whilst  a  smile  of  peace  rested  upon  her 
lips,  which,  to  Helen  at  least,  needed  no  explanation. 


CHAPTER   LXIX. 

A  very  indifferent  resting-place  was  Capo  di  Ponte,  found 
after  long  and  anxious  expectation  whether  any  such  place 
were  in  existence.  Moreover,  the  afternoon  journey  was  by 
no  means  so  interesting  as  that  of  the  morning.  The  gran- 
deur and  beauty  of  the  Friulian  mountains  was  gone;  and 
the  road,  after  emerging  from  the  ravine  immediately 
beyond  Perarollo,  led  into  a  broader  valley,  affording  space 
for  the  Piave  to  spread  itself  out,  and  leave  a  roush,  shingly 
beach  at  its  edge,  which  considerably  injured  its  picturesque- 
ness.  Longarone,  a  bright-looking  little  village  on  the  side 
of  the  river,  might  have  been  better  chosen  for  the  halting- 
place,  if  bodily  comfort  only  had  been  consulted ;  but  there 


ivoes.  200 

were  secret  reasons  against  it  in  the  minds  of  most  of  the 
party.  Pietro  thought  of  his  horses,  and  the  next  day's 
journey  to  Treviso;  Sir  Henry  disliked  coming  to  a  stand- 
still early  in  the  afternoon,  unless  there  was  something  very 
remarkable  to  be  seen ;  Annette  dreaded  the  weary  hours 
before  bed-time,  to  be  spent  in  attending  to  Lady  Augusta, 
and  helping  her  with  her  crochet ;  Helen  remembered  that 
Lougarone  would  bring  them  a^ain  within  reach  of  Claude 
Egerton ;  and  Susan, — her  feelings  were  a  problem  not  so 
easily  solved.  And  so  Longarone  was  passed ;  and  Pietro 
smacked  his  whip  triumphantly,  and  drove  on  at  a  great 
pace,  nodding,  and  smiling,  and  chatting  to  Annette  with  con- 
summate nonchalance;  taking  care,  however,  to  make  an  ex- 
cuse for  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  make  secret  in- 
quiries of  the  peasants ;  whilst  poor  Sir  Henry, — his  eyes 
fixed  one  monieut  upon  the  "  Handbook,"  aud  the  next 
raised  doubtfully  to  look  around  him, — was  heard  to  murmur 
to  himself,  "  Very  perplexing !  very  uncomfortable  !  not  at 
all  sure  there  is  such  a  place  !  Very  strange  that  Murray 
should  n't  mention  it !  I'll  row  that  rascal,  Pietro,  well  if 
he  has  misled  us." 

But  Capo  di  Ponte  came  at  last, — a  straggling  village, 
only  remarkable  for  a  long  wooden  bridge  over  the  Piave, 
ornamented  by  the  Winged  Lion  of  St.  Mark  ;  and  so  carry- 
ing the  thoughts  back  to  the  days  when  Venetian  power  ex- 
tended itself  far  beyond  the  limits  of  the  city  of  the  sea. 

The  poverty-stricken  little  inn  was  crowded  by  groups  of 
Italian  peasants,  neither  very  clean  nor  very  respectable- 
looking.  Lady  Augusta  uttered  a  faint  exclamation  of 
terror,  declaring  that  they  were  in  the  land  of  banditti,  and 
Lad  been  brought  there  to  be  murdered  ;  and  insisted,  as 
usual,  that  they  should  all  go  back  to  England.  Put  the 
travelling-carriage,  as  it  drew  up  before  the  door,  had  the 
effect  of  dispersing  the  crowd  immediately  around;  and  they 
23 


210  -       IVORS. 

withdrew  to  a  convenient  distance,  watching,  with  marked 
interest,  the  proceedings  of  the  strangers. 

"  Uno,  due,  tre,  quaiiro"  exclaimed  Annette,  counting 
upon  her  fingers,  as  she  made  her  way  into  the  inn.  "  Where 
will  they  find  so  many  rooms  ?  Ah  !  quel  pays  !  quel  pays  !  " 

But  she  was  stopped  by  the  smallest,  briskest,  blithest, 
most  black-haired  of  Italian  waiters,  who  showered  upon  her 
a  volley  of  asseverations,  promises,  and  ecstatics  of  all  kinds- 
Rooms  !  they  had  any,  all ;  an  infinite  number.  Beds  !  ah  ! 
yes,  superb.  Supper!  instantly;  fresh  eggs,  fish,  bread,  meat, 
omelettes,  tutto,  tutto,  alia  sua  servizia ;  the  lingering 
emphasis  upon  tutto,  tutto,  giving  a  depth  of  meaning  which 
included  what  in  London  would  certainly  have  been  called 
every  delicacy  of  the  season. 

"  A  salon !  where  is  the  salon,  Annette  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Augusta,  reproachfully,  as  the  little  waiter  threw  open  the 
door  of  a  bed-room,  and  ushered  them  into  a  very  moderate- 
sized  apartment,  with  one  large  uncurtained  bed  in  it. 

"  No  salons  here,  Miladi,"  said  Annette  gruffly ;  "  they 
tion't  know  what  such  things  mean.  Here ;  " — and  she 
caught  the  man  by  the  arm,  and  held  him,  whilst  he  stood 
like  a  bird  upon  the  point  of  taking  wing.  "  Cenere, — vous 
comprenez, — cenere  ?  " 

aAh!  si  ;  "  but  the  waiter  stood  still,  his  eyes  opened  to 
their  fullest  extent,  with  anxiety  and  eagerness. 

"  Cenere  !  "  repeated  Annette,  angrily.  "  All,  quHl  est 
sot" 

"  Cena,  Annette  !  "  murmured  Lady  Augusta,  in  a  faint 
voice,  and  she  sank  down  in  a  chair  by  the  bed ;  and  the 
little  waiter  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight,  and  rushed 
to  the  door  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

"  Cena  !  cenere  1  "  muttered  Annette  to  herself.  "  Cenere  ! 
cena  !  quelle  langue.     Pauvre  Miladi." 

"  Not  in  this  room,  Annette,"  almost  screamed  Lady 
Augusta ;  "  tell  him  it  must  n't  be  here." 


IVORS.  211 

"  Pauvre  Miladi!  we  shall  do  quite  -well."  "  Made- 
moiselle, Miss  Graham ;  "  Annette  addressed  Helen  and 
Susan,  who  had  just  followed  her  into  the  room;  "  You  go 
out  with  Sir  Henry;  take  him  out;  let  him  have  a  walk. 
Miladi  and  I,  we  arrange  everything;  allez,  allez" — and  in 
a  moment  she  was  fiercely  confronting  the  waiter.  "  Dcr 
mussen:  ah,  why  do  we  go  through  so  many  countries,  to 
talk  so  many  languages.  Voyez  vous  ; — bisogna  vcdere — 
what  must  I  say.  mademoiselle  ?  I  forget.  How  call  they 
landlady  here  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to  call  her,"  said  Susan ;  "  here 
she  is.     Now  you  can  arrange  everything." 

"Ah/  oui,  out,'  then  you  go."  Annette  drew  forth  a 
little  Italian  vocabulary,  which  she  had  been  carefully  study- 
ing during  the  journey. 

"  You  had  much  better  let  us  talk  to  her,"  said  Helen. 
"  You  will  be  sure  to  blunder." 

"  Blunder  !  did  I  ever  blunder  yet  ?  Then  you  take  it 
your  own  way  ;  see  how  you  manage.  I  give  it  up ;  I 
leave  it."  Annette  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  scowled 
defiance. 

"  A  Roman  dictatorship  was  nothing  to  this,"  said  Helen, 
aside  to  Susan  ;  "  I  am  only  thankful  that  we  left  our  courier 
at  Innsbruck;  we  shouldn't  have  been  allowed  to  choose 
our  own  road,  if  we  had  not.  But  I  can't  leave  mamma  in 
this  way,  to  the  mercies  of  Annette's  Italian.  Just  go  out 
with  papa,  and  let  me  stay." 

"Sir  Henry  will  be  disappointed,"  said  Susan. 

"  That  can't  be  helped.  I  don't  mean  i<>  be  ondutifu] ; 
only  go, — occupy  him  in  some  way,  or  he  will  be  misera- 
ble." 

Susan  went  down  stairs,  and  found  Sir  Henry  talking 
over  the  prospects  of  the  next  day  with   Pietro.     Susan's 

suggestion    that    they  should  .-.  e  wh:it   the  place  wa-  like  was 

just  the  thing  he  wanted,  and  they  wenl  oul  together. 


212  ivors. 

A  scramble  over  the  rous;h  stones,  which  formed  the 
shore  of  the  river,  and  which  spread  out  on  either  side  so  as  to 
form  a  very  desolate  and  uninteresting  featui'e  in  the  scenery, 
was  occupation  for  Sir  Henry  for  the  next  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  ;  and  then,  being  sufficiently  tired,  he  proposed  re- 
turning to  the  inn.  Susan  was  only  too  glad  not  to  have 
had  a  loug  tete-a-tete  walk.  Conversation  with  her  uncle 
was  generally  painful,  for  he  was  always  asking  her  what  she 
thought  of  Lady  Augusta,  and  she  was  obliged  to  disappoint 
him  by  confessing  that  she  saw  but  very  little,  if  any,  im- 
provement. This  day,  however,  Sir  Henry  chose  another 
topic,  in  the  short  distance  which  they  walked  along  the 
road,  as  they  came  back  from  the  river.  He  spoke  of 
Claude  Egerton,  and  regretted  openly,  that  Helen  had  not 
been  able  to  like  hiin.  "  Claude  may  not  be  such  an  attrac- 
tive man  to  a  young  girl,  as  many  persons  of  his  age  are," 
he  said ;  "  there  is  a  certain  stiffness  and  coldness  about  him, 
a  want  of  sunshine ;  but  that  is  all  to  be  attributed  to  his 
early  life ;  he  knew  sorrow  just  when  most  boys  know  joy, 
and  he  has  never  recovered  it.  A  happy  marriage  would 
make  hiin  quite  another  man ;  and  then  he  is  such  a  first-rate 
fellow  !  Hume  was  talking  to  me  about  him  when  we  met ; 
telling  me  all  he  has  been  doing  at  Helmsley.  He  has  been 
down  there  staying  with  him.  There  is  not  a  cottage  on  the 
estate  which  Claude  has  n't  repaired,  or  added  to ;  not  a  la- 
bourer thit  he  doesn't  know,  if  not  personally,  at  least  suf- 
ficiently to  look  after  his  family,  and  take  care  that  there  is 
no  want.  Certainly,  he  has  a  capital  agent  on  the  spot,  but 
he  is  down  there  continually,  seeing  after  things  himself, 
and  working  like  a  dray  horse  in  Parliament  besides. 
Where  is  there  another  man  of  Claude's  age,  and  with  his 
fortune,  who  would  give  himself  up  to  work  in  that  way  ? 
And    yet    you  women  can't    like  him,  because  he  does  n't 


ivors.  213 

play  the   flute,  and    dance    the    polka,  and    won't  sport    a 
moustache.     Ah  !  Susan,  you  are  a  very  perplexing  race." 

"  Very,"  said  Susan;  it  was  the  only  reply  required  of 
her,  for  they  bad  reached  the  door  of  the  inn,  and  Sir 
Henry  hurried  away  from  her,  to  see  what  progress  had 
been  made,  in  providing  for  Lady  Augusta's  comfort. 

"  Odd  this  !  but  not  to  be  despised,  eh,  my  dear  ?"  was 
his  cheerful  observation  to  his  wife,  as  he  sat  down  at  a. 
square  table,  placed  between  the  bed  and  the  side  wall  of 
Lady  Augusta's  apartment. 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  don't  treat  us  better,"  said  Lady 
Augusta.  <:  Annette  would  n't  ask  for  a  salon,  though  I  told 
her  what  to  say." 

"  Something  new  and  pleasant  enough,  once  in  a  way," 
continued  Sir  Henry.  "  What  are  they  going  to  give  us, 
Helen  ?  " 

"  Fish,  and  soup,  and  an  omelette,"  said  Helen.  "  I 
was  afraid  of  trusting  too  much  to  tea  and  coffee." 

'•  A'ery  good  ;  we  shall  do  capitally.  "What  have  you 
been  doing  with  yourself,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  reading  to  mamma,"  said  Helen. 

"  Yes;  Helen  reads  to  me  sometimes.  I  like  that,"  said 
Lady  Augusta.     "  "We  had  not  quite  finished.'! 

1  I  was  reading  the  Psalms  for  the  day,"  said  Helen, 
with  an  air  of  apology.  "  It  soothes  her,"  she  added,  in  an 
under-tone. 

Sir  Henry  looked  as  if  he  thought  it  rather  a  strange 
and  inconvenient  time  to  choose  for  reading  the  Psalms,  but 
in  his  good-nature  he  would  not  interfere.  Helm  weni  on 
reading;  Lady  Augusta  listening,  with  her  .•yes  closed,  and 
Sir  Henry  striving  to  be  reverent  and  attentive,  though 
showing  his  restlessness  by  an  impatient  movement,  of  bia 
foot;  He  started  up  as  Helen  shut  the  book.  u  Now  then 
for  supper!  Cmerc,  as  Annette  calls  it;  wh.it  a  capital  blun- 


214  ivoks. 

der  !  Are  we  to  have  a  table-cloth,  I  wonder,  C-arcon  ?  " 
He  went,  to  the  door  and  called,  and  was  answered  by  the 
black-haired  waiter. 

"  Ah  !  si,  signor  ;  un  momento."  The  little  man  skip- 
ped into  the  room  with  a  cloth  over  his  arm,  which  he  spread 
upon  the  table,  puckering  it  into  ornamental  figures ;  then, 
after  disappearing,  he  danced  up  to  the  table  again  with 
some  bottles,  placing  green  leaves  in  them  for  stoppers ;  and 
at  length,  with  an  air  of  ineffable  satisfaction  and  looking 
round  upon  the  party  with  the  evident  inquiry,  whether  any- 
thing could  possibly  be  more  perfect,  he  laid  before  Sir 
Henry  a  dish  of  fish,  name  and  species  unknown. 

"  Now,  my  dear."  Sir  Henry  put  some  on  the  plate  be- 
fore him,  looked  at  it  doubtfully,  turned  it  over.  "  Will  it 
do,  Helen  ?  I  am  afraid  not."  His  usual  expression  of 
good-humoured  contentment  deserted  him  for  the  instant. 
He  pushed  it  aside,  pointed  it  out  with  an  air  of  scorn  to  the 
little  waiter,  and  in  the  best  Italian  he  could  collect  thun- 
dered out,  "  Via,  via,  male  !  " 

"Si,  signor,  si.  Grazia  signor;  and  the  condemned 
fish  was  seized  and  carried  off  with  the  merriest  of  steps  and 
the  most  civil  of  smiles. 

Helen  and  Susan  laughed  heartily.  Lady  Augusta  in- 
quired mournfully  why  they  did  not  give  them  something  to 
eat,  she  was  very  hungry,  and  they  had  all  to  go  to  bed,  and 
this  was  her  bedroom,  she  could  not  think  why  Annette 
would  not  ask  for  a  salon ;  she  was  quite  sure  they  would  be 
much  better  in  England. 

The  waiter  reappeared  with  something  supposed  to  be  an 
omelette,  but  which  in  reality  looked  very  much  more  like 
what  in  England  is  called  Yorkshire  pudding.  It  was  eata- 
ble, however,  and  so  was  the  soup ;  and  Lady  Augusta,  who 
was  the  person  chiefly  to  be  considered,  contrived  to  make  a 
tolerable  repast,  which,  however,  was  no  sooner  euded,  than 


ivors.  215 


she  insisted  upon  it  she  must  go  to  bed  directly  ;  and  her 
apartment  being  the  only  sitting  room,  every  one  else  -was 
obliged  to  follow  her  example. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

Susan  and  Helen  occupied,  as  usual,  the  same  room.  A 
little  trial  it  was  to  both ;  friends  though  they  were  from 
childhood,  and  intimately  acquainted  with  each  other's  habits 
and  modes  of  thought,  there  was  something  very  wearing  in 
never  being  alone.  This  evening  Susan  felt  it  more  espe- 
cially. Helen  was  inclined  to  sit  up  and  talk  ;  the  very  way 
in  which  she  laid  her  candlestick  upon  the  dressing-table  and 
leisurely  took  out  her  journal  was  enough  to  prove  it.  Susan 
longed  to  be  in  bed,  not  that  she  might  sleep,  only  that  she 
might  be  quiet,  still,  to  herself, — that  she  might  think.  The 
day  had  been  singularly  long  and  exhausting ;  she  felt  as 
though  months  had  been  condensed  into  it.  It  seemed  scarcely 
possible  that  she  had  parted  from  Claude  only  a  few  hours 
before,  and  that  he  was  even  then  but  a  few  miles  distant 
from  her;  and  still  less  possible  that  they  might  meet  at 
Venice.  That,  however,  was  doubtful.  Again  and  again  du- 
ring the  course  of  the  afternoon  she  had  said  to  herself  that 
she  would  not  think  of  it,  she  would  not  think  of  Claude  at 
all; — whilst  the  next  moment  found  her  recalling  his  looks, 
tone,  manner,  words,  dwelling  upon  the  peculiar  marks  of  in- 
terest he  had  shown,  and  the  undisguised  pleasure  he  had 
evinced  in  meeting  her. 

Could  it  all  be  vanity?  petty,  womanish  vanity'/  Susan 
perhaps  was  as:  i'm-,  from  that  greal  weaknei  -  as  any  person 
of  her  age  and  sex,  but   she  could   discover  it  in  herself  when 

others  would  never  have  noticed   it;  and  now  she  blamed 


216  itoes. 

herself  for  it,  and  felt  humbled  in  her  own  sight.  But  the 
suspicion  of  a  fault  could  not,  as  at  other  times,  enable  her 
to  subdue  it ;  and  worn  with  the  constantly  recurring  feeling 
which  she  could  not  conquer,  it  was  a  relief,  even  though  for 
the  moment  she  felt  it  to  be  an  interruption  and  annoyance, 
to  be  addressed  by  Helen  with  the  matter-of-fact  inquiry, — 
"  What  time  are  we  to  start  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Half-past  eight,  as  usual,  I  believe,"  answered  Susan. 
"  At  least,  I  heard  Pietro  say  so  to  my  uncle." 

"  Two  more  days  and  then  we  rest,"  said  Helen.  "  We 
could  not  go  on  much  longer  iu  this  way." 

"  Lady  Augusta  would  be  over-tired,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
Susan. 

"  Tired  and  excited,"  said  Helen  ;  "  I  dread  that  the 
most.  I  am  sure  those  London  doctors  were  wrong ;  I  could 
have  managed  her  better  if  they  would  only  have  listened  to 
me." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  Susan.  "  I  am  sure  change  was  the  thing 
needed,  even  though  it  may  be  an  exertion  at  the  time,  and 
Lady  Augusta  may  dislike  it.  You  will  find  the  benefit 
when  you  are  at  home  again.     It  breaks  up  old  habits." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  thoughtfully,  "  if  that  be  good ;  but 
I  doubt  it.  Perhaps  I  am  selfish,  though ;  I  could  have  done 
something  for  her  in  England,  and  I  can  do  nothing  here  ; 
Annette  takes  everything  from  me." 

"  You  do  all  you  can,"  said  Susan,  kindly. 

Helen  smiled,  though  with  a  bitter  sadness  in  her  ex- 
pression. "  Yes,  I  do  all  I  can,  and  what  is  it  ?  I  read  the 
Psalms  to  her  sometimes,  and  put  her  cushions  right,  and 
the  chances  are  that  she  makes  Annette  alter  them  directly 
afterwards." 

"  But  if  it  is  not  given  you  to  do  more,  shouldn't  you  be 
satisfied  ?  "  asked  Susan. 

Helen  laid  down   her  pen  and  sighed.     "  You  don't  un- 


ITOKS  217 

derstand,  Susan  :  I  suppose  it  is  not  possible  you  could.  If 
I  were  a  Bomanist,  I  could  wear  out  my  life  with  pen- 
ances. I  should  like  to  do  so  now.  I  can  understand  their 
feeling,  quite ;  any  thing  to  get  rid  of  the  perpetual  fret  of 
one's  conscience." 

"  But,  Helen,"  exclaimed  Susan,  eagerly  ;  "  Sir  Henry, — 
mamma, — every  one  tells  you  that  you  are  not  answerable." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Helen,  coolly.  "  I  am  not  idiot- 
enough  to  suppose  that  I  alone  was  the  cause  of  that  misera- 
ble fever.  Perhaps — very  likely,  indeed — it  would  have 
been  just  the  same  if  I  had  never  come  in  the  way.  But 
it  is  no  use  arguing  against  feeling,  Susan  ;  most  especially 
there  is  none  in  trying  to  persuade  one,  one  is  an  angel, 
when  conscience  says  just  the  reverse.  Whom  have  I  ever 
come  in  contact  with  that  I  have  not  made  wretched  ?  "Who 
is  there  in  the  world  that  has  to  thank  me  for  an  hour's  hap- 
piness? Nay,  let  me  speak,  I  know  beforehand  all  you 
would  say.  You  think  that  being  sorry  does  away  with  it 
all ;  but  I  am  not  sorry,  at  least  not  in  the  way  you  mean. 
I  am  not  at  all  what  people  would  call  converted." 

"  You  are  altered,"  said  Susan,  "  whatever  you  may 
choose  to  call  it." 

"I  should  be  insane  if  I  were  not.  Persons  ean*t  have 
such  a  shock  as  1  have  had  without  bi  fag  so.  If  it  were  only 
having  one's  cyc^<  opened  to  deceit  where  one  imagined  truth," 
— and  Helen's  voice  faltered  as  she  thought  of  Madame 
Beinhard, — "one  must  view  the  world  differently  in  conse- 
quence. But  that  is  not  being  religious.  It  is  not  really 
loving  and  caring  for  religion;  a  heathen  might  feej  as  1 
feel." 

"But  if  he  did,  he  would  be  on  the  high  road  towards 
becoming  a  Christian, "  said  Su-.m. 

"  On  the  high  road,  possibly;"  Helen  considered  a  little. 
"  It.  does  not  follow  that  he  might  not  wander  ovi  of  it  again. 


218  ivoks. 

I  don't  feel  in  the  least  sure  that  I  should  not  go  back  to  my 
old  ways  if  temptation  came  in  my  path.  I  don't  know  whai; 
is  to  keep  me." 

"  Gratitude,"  said   Susan  ;  "  the  feeling  that  you  were 
stopped  and  warned." 

"  If  I  could  feel  it,"  replied    Helen  ;  "  but   I  don't.      I 
hate  myself,  that  is  all." 

"  So  we  must  all  hate  ourselves,  I  suppose,"  said  Susan. 
"  Your  hatred  is  a  different  feeling  from  mine,  though," 
continued  Helen.  "  I  am  so  angry  with  myself  for  having 
been  taken  in ;  that  is  one  thing  I  can't  get  over  ;  but  there 
is  no  great  virtue  in  it.  And  as  to  poor  mamma, — I  know  I 
was  a  wretch  ;  I  teased  and  tormented  her  ;  and  I  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  help  her  now  :  but  that  is  merely  the 
longing  to  satisfy  my  own  mind." 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  up  analysing  your  feelings,"  said 
Susan  ;  "  you  would  be  much  better  and  happier." 

"  I  should  be  thankful  if  I  could,"  said  Helen  •  "  but  I 
am  a  puzzle  to  myself;  and  I  see  clearly  what  every  one 
about  me  thinks,  and  I  know  it  is  not  true.  People  fancy  I 
have  become  quite  good  and  religious  ;  but  if  it  were  not  for 
you,  Susan,  and  just  one  or  two  others,  I  suspect  I  should 
very  often  have  no  faith  in  goodness  at  all." 

Susan  showed  by  her  countenance  that  she  was  shocked, 
but  she  would  not  say  so.  Helen  went  on  in  a  wild,  eager 
way,  giving  vent  to  the  thoughts  which  oppressed  her. 
:i  Teaching  does,  nothing,  Susan ;  practice  is  everything ; 
and   all   the  practice  I  have  seen,  except  yours,  and  Aunt 

Fanny's,  and — and — Claude's, "  she  paused,  and  Susan 

listened  more  attentively, — "  it  has  all  been  pivtence, — all 
that  church-going  and  formalism.  Madame  Reinhard  taught 
me  to  see  that,  if  she  taught  me  nothing  else." 

"  But  Madame  Reinhard  could  not  understand  it,"  ex- 
claimed Susan. 


ivoks.  219 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  she  may  have  been  false  in  her  conduct, 
but  her  intellect  was  as  clear  and  piercing  as  the  sun." 

"  Intellect  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter,"  said  Susan. 
"  It  is  a  spiritual  insight  which  is  required  to  discern  spiritual 
truths.  I  don't  mean  to  talk  cant,  but  it  is  the  only  way  I 
can  express  myself.  An  irreligious  person  cannot  possibly 
comprehend  the  use  or  comfort  of  religious  practices." 

"  Madame  Keinhard  may  have  been  very  deceptive," 
said  Helen,  "  but  I  am  convinced  she  had  a  great  deal  of 
devotional  feeling." 

"Only  it  did  not  embody  itself  in  deeds,"  said  Susan; 
"  and  what  was  it  worth  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say ;  I  don't  know  what  anything  is  worth," 
said  Helen,  despairingly. 

"  It  is  all  worth  nothing,  dearest,"  replied  Susan,  as  she 
drew  near  to  her  cousin,  and  laid  her  hand  fondly  upon  her 
shoulder.  "  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  all  the  church-goino- 
and  formalism,  as  you  call  it,  are,  in  themselves,  just  as  good 
for  nothing  as  Madame  Reinhard's  devotion,  and  just  as  in- 
comprehensible; but  I  would  not  for  that  reason  cast  them 
aside,  any  more  than  I  would  cry  down  religious  feelings. 
It  is  absurd  to  talk  of  either  as  religion;  but  they  may  be 
great  helps  ;  they  are  means  to  an  end.  Like  crutches,  they 
are  not  the  power  of  motion;  yet,  if  the  leg  is  weak,  the 
power  will  not  be  sufficient  without  the  crutches." 

"  People  think  they  are  more  than  crutches,"  said  Helen. 
"  Poor  mamma  piqued  herself  upon  her  church-going,  as  if  it 
bad  embodied  all  the  cardinal  virtues  ;  and  I  should  soon 
fall  into  the  same  tone  of  mind  myself, — I  know  I  should. 
I  can't  be  happy  unless  I  have  done  a  certain  set  of  things 
for  mamma  in  the  course  of  the  dayy — looking  after  her 
crochet — preparing  her  breakfast, — all  those  little  matters; 
but  I  am  not  one  whit,   more  kind  and  dutiful,  really ." 

"But  if. you  knew  that  Ladj  Lugusta  Loved  you  very 
much,  that  would  make  a  diffi  i  lid  Su  an, 


220  IVOES. 

"  Yes,  an  immense  difference," — and  Helen's  eyes  spar- 
kled ;  "  but  she  can't  do  that  :  I  have  been  such  a  trouble  to 
her." 

"  I  suppose,  if  we  believe  the  Bible,  we  must  believe  also 
that  God  loves  us,"  said  Susan,  "  in  spite  of  our  being  what 
you  call  a  trouble." 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  said  Helen. 

"  But  you  can  believe  that  He  is  more  pleased  with  you 
when  you  try  to  do  what  is  right  than  when  you  wilfully  do 
wrong,"  said  Susan. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  can;  I  must."  Helen  spoke  doubt- 
fully. 

"  That  will  help  you  in  a  degree,"  said  Susan ;  "  it  will 
take  away  the  hard  feeling  from  your  duties." 

"  If  it  were  not  for  all  those  mazes,  those  dreamy  notions 
of  Madame  Beinhard's  !  "  said  Helen  ;  "  I  used  to  think  at 
the  time  that  I  did  not  care  for  them  ;  but  they  return  now, 
whenever  anything  like  comfort  comes  to  me,  and  throw  me 
into  such  a  whirl  of  doubt  !  and  then  I  think,  and  think,  till 
I  am  half  wild." 

"  Thinking  won't  help  you,"  said  Susan 

"  I  know  that  ;  nothing  will,  unless Susan,  I  wish 

you  would  tell  me   about  yourself;    I  should   understand 
then." 

"  I  can't  talk  of  myself,"  was  Susan's  reply ;  and  she 
turned  avay,  and  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  In 
another  moment,  however,  she  came  back  again,  and  said, 
"  I  don't  mean  to  be  unkind,  Helen ;  but  it  is  so  different 
with  me  from  what  it  is  with  you  ;  and  I  have  never  been  ac- 
customed to  analyse  my  own  feelings.  I  don't  know  quite 
what  I  feel,  or  why  I  do  things  ;  only  " — and  her  voice  trem- 
bled— "  I  think  I  know  what  it  is  to  love."  After  an  in- 
stant she  went  on  more  composed^.  "  I  can't  tell  how  that 
feeling  grew  up.     You  know  religion  has   always  been  part 


ivors.  221 

of  our  lives ;  it  was  mixed  up  with  our  idea  of  mamma  : 
when  we  loved  her,  we  could  not  help  loving  what  she  did  ; 
aud  so  it  came  to  us  without  auy  effort ;  and  what  you  call 
formalisms  were  as  natural  to  us  as  getting  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, aud  going  to  bed,  and  eating  and  driuking.  Perhaj  s 
the  first  thing  that  presented  itself  to  me  distinctly,  as  a 
feeling  of  religion,  was  that  one  which  I  mentioned  just  now, 
— I  mean,  that  God  would  be  pleased  with  me  if  I  tried  to 
do  right.  I  had  it  when  I  was  a  very  little  child,  even  bo- 
fore  I  ceuld  understand  all  that  has  been  done  for  us.  It 
was  the  first  thought  that  came  home  to  me  personally,  and 
that,  I  dare  say,  is  the  reason  why  I  dwell  so  much  upon  it. 
Of  course  people  may  say  that  it  is  not  the  ground  of  our 
love,  and  I  know  it  is  not ;  but  I  am  sure,  as  regards  myself, 
that  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  realize  the  higher  feel- 
ing of  love  to  our  Saviour  for  His  sufferings, — that  grows 
deeper  and  clearer  as  one  goes  on;  but  at  first  it  is  very  dif- 
ficult to  enter  into  it." 

"  Very,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  dare  say  the  fact  is,"  continued  Susan,  "  that  religion 
comes  to  people  in  different  ways,  according  to  their  differ- 
ent circumstances  :  in  one  way  to  a  child,  and  in  another  to 
a  grown  up  person.  I  always  feel  as  if  my  religion  was  that 
of  a  child  ;  it  is  so  much  quieter  than  what  I  have  heard  of 
in  persons  who  have  been,  what  is  called,  converted  late  in 
life.  But  I  should  not  like  to  change, — I  mean,  it  would 
not  suit  me." 

"  Quietness  is  what  I  like,"  said  I  felon.  "  The  odd  ways 
people  have  of  being  religious,  disturb  me." 

"We  must  take  people  as  they  are,"  said  Susan;  "we 
can  be  no  more  alike  in  our  religious  tastes,  I  suppose,  than 
we  are  in  any  other;  but  I  am  glad  to  put  all  external  dif- 
ferences aside,  and  think  of  what  persons  are  underneath. 
If  tncy  are  ill  earnest,  I  can  like  and  esteem  them,  in  spite 
of  their  peculiar  ways." 


222  ivors. 

"  Yes,  if  they  are  in  earnest,"  said  Helen ;  "  but  that  is 
what  I  am  always  doubting." 

"  Well,  suppose  we  don't  think  about  others,  but  about 
ourselves." 

"About  myself,"  said  Helen;  "  that  is  the  point.  What 
is  to  help  me  to  be  anything  but  a  cold-hearted  wretch  ?  " 

Susan  kissed  her,  and  answered,  "  The  knowledge  that 
you  are  not  one ;  that  God  does  not  look  upon  you  as  one, 
any  more  than  I  do  ;  that  He  has  made  you  very  sorry  for 
anything  that  may  have  been  wrong  before,  and  given  you  a 
hearty  wish  to  do  right  now." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  can't  say  that  I  am  very  sorry,  or  that 
I  have  a  hearty  wish,"  said  Helen.    • 

"  But,  without  saying  it,  only  go  on  trying  to  please 
God,  because  He  made  you  His  child  at  your  baptism ;  and 
though  you  may  have  been  a  very  naughty  child,  you  wish 
now  to  be  a  very  good  one." 

"  And  think  that  He  loves  me  in  spite  of  it  all,"  said 
Helen  ;  "  that  is  harder  than  anything." 

"  You  don't  like  to  have  texts  quoted,"  said  Susan ;  "  but 
I  may  just  show  you  one  ;  "  and  she  turned  to  her  Bible,  and 
pointed  to  the  eighth  verse  of  the  fifth  chapter  of  St.  Paul's 
Epistle  to  the  Bomans :  " '  God  commendeth  His  love 
towards  us  in  that,  while  we  were  yet  sinners,  Christ  died 
for  us.'     There  is  nothing  to  be  said  against  that  argument." 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  thoughtfully.  She  took  the  Bible 
from  Susan's  hand,  and  stood  for  some  seconds  reading  it 
Then  laying  it  down  suddenly,  she  exclaimed,  in  her  usual 
light  tone,  "  Susan,  do  you  know  where  we  are  ?  " 

"  In  Italy,"  said  Susan. 

"  Capo  di  Ponte ;  a  little  out  of  the  way  village  in  Fri- 
uli.     I  don't  quite  believe  it." 

"  One  carries  oneself  everywhere,"  said  Susan,  with  a 
sigh. 


ivors.  223 

"  People  think  that  when  they  travel  they  shall  forget 
their  former  selves,"  said  Helen  ;  "  but  they  don't,  at  least 
I  don't.  The  surface  may  change,  but  the  substratum  is  the 
same.  It  is  very  odd,  though,  that  you  and  I  should  choose 
to  talk  on  these  grave  matters,  at  Capo  di  Ponte." 

"  Very  odd  !  "  said  Susan  ;  "  only  Capo  di  Ponte  is  on 
earth,  and  whilst  we  live  on  earth  I  suppose  we  must  per- 
plex ourselves  about  matters  of  earthly  conduct." 

"  Somehow,  I  never  realised  before  that  Italy  was  earth,'' 
said  Helen.  "  But  good-night ;  I  am  not  going  to  talk  any 
more." 

Helen  fell  asleep  quickly.  Susan  had  a  long,  restless, 
wakeful  night,  full  of  dreams  of  Claude  Egerton  ;  but  there 
was  no  longer  the  dread  that  her  dreams  were  wicked. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

"  Treviso  to-day,  Venice  to-morrow,  Susan,"  exclaimed 
Helen,  as  she  stood  by  the  side  of  her  cousin's  bed,  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Susan  half  opened  her  very  drowsy  eyes. 

"  Very  comfortable  beds,  in  spite  of  our  chambermaid's 
apology,"  continued  Helen.  "Hid  you  hear  her  say  last 
Dight  that  they  had  not  been  accustomed  to  wait  upon  la- 
dies?" 

"  I  don't  remember  anything  now,"  said  Susan;  "  only 
that  I  should  like  to  go  to  sleep  again  for  another  hour." 

"Here  comes  Annette,  to  frighten  us,"  said  Helm, 
"you  had  better  get  up  directly,  Susan,  or  you  will  have  a 
lecture." 

Annett-'  entered  as  brisk  as  though  Bhe  had  condensed 
two  nights'  rest  into  one.     "  Miladi  much  better  this  morn- 


22±  ivors. 

ing,  wishing  to  set  off  very  early.  Dcpechez  voits,  made- 
moiselle. Sir  Henry  moves  about  already.  Miss  Graham  ! 
you  have  not  a  moment." 

"  Well,  then,  just  leave  poor  Miss  Graham  to  herself,  and 
come  to  me,  Annette,"  said  Helen.  "  What  kind  of  night 
has  mamma  had  ?  " 

Annette's  attention  was  happily  withdrawn  from  Susan, 
who  was  left  at  liberty  to  dress ;  but  quietness  was  not  to  be 
had.  Helen  required  her  services,  and  talk  she  would  and 
must,  about  all  things,  and  all  places,  and  people  ;  most  es- 
pecially, this  monjing,  about  Mr.  Egerton.  She  had  learnt 
more  about  him  than  he  had  told  of  himself.  Captain 
Hume's  man-servant  had  gossiped  a  good  deal.  "  Mr.  Eger- 
ton," she  said,  "  had  settled  to  go  abroad  quite  suddenly. 
He  had  been  overworking  himself,  and  wanted  change,  and 
his  spirits  were  not  good.  He  was  exceedingly  kind  to  Cap- 
tain Hume's  invalid  son,  who  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
him,  and  that  was  one  reason  of  his  coming.  Just  before 
he  left  England  there  was  a  report  that  Mr.  Egerton  was 
going  to  be  married,  but  Captain  Hume's  man  didn't  believe 
it."  Annette  was  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  her  com- 
munication by  an  exclamation  from  Helen,  that  a  hair-pin 
was  running  into  her  head. 

"  That  will  do,  Annette ;  thank  you ;  now  you  may  go. 
Mamma  will  be  waiting  for  you." 

"  Miss  Graham,  you  want  help.  What  can  I  do  ?  "  said 
Annette,  advancing  to  the  corner  to  which  Susan  had  retired. 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,  nothing."  Susan's  tone  bordered 
upon  irritation. 

"  Pardon,  pardon,  only  you  be  ready  in  time.  Miladi 
is  very  much  disturbed  when  she  is  kept;  and  Sir  Henry, 
he  does  not  like  it.  Shall  I  put  these  shoes  in  your  carpet 
bag  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no.     I  can  do  it  all  myself.     I  don't  want 


tvoes.  225 

any  help  ;   I   can  do   quite   -well,"   persisted   Susan,  retiring 
further  into  the  corner. 

"  Young  ladies  like  their  own  way,  but  you  be  ready, 
mind.  Mademoiselle," — she  turned  to  Helen, — "  where  is 
your  dressing-case  ?  I  put  it  up,  and  take  it  separate  to 
Pietro.  Mr.  Egerton's  carriage  is  a  better  one  than  ours: 
he  puts  things  all  comfortable.  See,"  and  she  stood  delib- 
erately by  the  little  dressing-table — "  let  this  be  the  car- 
riage ;  there  is  a  pocket  here,  a  pocket  there " 

Susan  sat  down,  her  hands  on  her  lap. 

"  Annette,  Annette,  go !  "  exclaimed  Helen,  and  she 
burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter ;  "  you  will  drive  poor  31  iss 
Graham  out  of  her  senses." 

"  Jloi  /  qiCai  je  faii?  pourquoi?  You  much  better 
let  me  do  your  hair ;  "  and  she  advanced  again  to  Susan. 

"  Thank  you,  no,  not  on  any  account ;  "  and  Susan  raised 
her  hands  to  her  head,  to  keep  off  the  proposed  assistance. 

A  thundering  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Sir 
Henry's  voice,  "Helen,  Susan,  why  do  you  keep  Annette? 
Lady  Augusta  wants  her." 

"  Ah  I  pauvrc  Miladi  I  "  Annette  hurried  out  of  the 
room,  and  Helen  turned  to  Susan.  "  An  enemy  for  life, 
Susan.  She  will  forgive  you  anything  but  getting  up  into 
the  corner  in  that  fashion   and  refusing  to  talk  to  her." 

"  I  must  run  the  risk,''  replied  Susan.  "  It  does  try  one 
beyond  patience  to  have  that  French  chattering  going  on  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"And  such  things  as  she  tells!"  said  Helen.  "I 
wish "  she  stopped  herself. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing.     I  don't  think,  any  more  than  Cap- 
tain Hume's  man-servant,  that  Claude  Egertoo  is  gom 
be  married;"  and  almost    involuntarily,   Helen  bent  down 
and  kissed  her  cousin's  fori  head. 


22G  ivoks. 

They  finished  dressing  in  silence.  Helen  went  to  make 
breakfast.  Susan  remained  to  pack  the  carpet  bag,  and  was 
just  collecting  the  few  things  to  be  put  into  it,  when  the 
door  opened  suddenly,  and  in  rushed  the  black-haired  waiter, 
with  a  grimace  and  a  smile.  Pcrdona  signorma,  perdona  ,*" 
he  made  his  way  past  Susan,  unfastened  a  cupboard,  caught 
up  some  wine-glasses,  and  was  gone  before  Susan  had  time  to 
laugh.  Annette  followed.  "  Ah  !  you  so  late  !  no  wonder 
the  garqon  should  come  in.  What  can  you  expect  ?  "  She 
motioned  Susnn,  with  an  air  of  offended  majesty,  to  leave 
the  carpet  bag,  and  would  accept  no  apology  for  trouble. 
"  Miladi  ready,  Sir  Henry  ready,  and  every  one ;  only  Miss 
Graham,  she  will  always  be  last;"  and  the  assertion  was 
made  so  authoritatively,  that  poor  Susan  began  to  believe  it 
must  be  true. 

Straight  level  roads,  bordered  by  acasias,  gently  rounded 
hills,  and  luxuriant  vineyards,  form  a  very  agreeable  country 
for  a  rapid  and  easy  drive,  but  they  are  not  very  interesting 
nor  picturesque.  Lady  Augusta  and  Annette  were  the  only 
persons  of  the  party  who  seemed  to  enjoy  the  change  from 
the  mountains.  Helen  complained  openly,  and  was  only 
comforted  by  the  deliciously  clear  warmth  of  the  climate. 
She  would  scarcely,  indeed,  acknowledge  that  there  was  any 
interest  in  the  tiny  lakes  of  Santa  Croce,  and  the  Lago 
Morto ;  the  latter  a  most  singular  little  sheet  of  water, 
shut  in  by  high  cliffs,  and  so  still,  as  fully  to  deserve  its 
name ;  and  was  only  roused  to  excitement  when  they  entered 
Sarravalle,  the  first  Italian  town  which  they  had  reached. 
Here,  indeed,  infinite  amusement  was  to  be  found  in  the 
streets,  which,  from  its  beiDg  a  festival  day,  were  full  of 
people.  The  quaint  costumes,  painted  houses,  arcades,  and 
innumerable  fruit  stalls,  made  a  mixture  of  gaiety  and  busi- 
ness, which  seemed  to  please  even  Lady  Augusta,  and  Sir 
Henry  rubbed  his  hands   with  genuine  satisfaction,  as   he 


iyoks.  227 

muttered  to  Susan :  "  It  will  do  after  all ;  Markham  was 
right.  Italy  is  the  place.  I  begin  to  say  with  Annette  :  les 
montagnes  ct  les  vilains  rochers,  que  je  les  deteste !  " 

"  We  are  to  dine  at  Conegliano,  I  believe,  papa,  are  n't 
we  ?  "  said  Helen. 

Sir  Henry  had  recourse  to  Murray.  "  Conegliano, — 
plains  of  the  Piave, — Post,  as  usual, — frescoes  by  Pordenone, 
on  private  houses.  Altar-piece  in  the  Duomo,  by  Cima, 
cracked,  blackened,  and  ruined  !  Great  comfort  that !  for 
we  need  n't  trouble  ourselves  to  go  and  look  at  it." 

"  I  think  I  could  walk  a  little,  and  go  to  the  shops," 
said  Lady  Augusta,  speaking  with  some  energy.  "  Annette 
would  go  with  me." 

"  I  would  go — we  would  all  go,  mamma,"  exclaimed 
Helen,  and  her  face  lighted  up  with  a  smile  of  relief  and 
satisfaction,  but  disappointment  followed  almost  instantly. 
Lady  Augusta  said  decidedly,  she  did  not  want  any  one  but 
Annette,  and  Helen  sank  back  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage, 
and  did  not  speak  again  till  they  entered  Conegliano. 

"As  good  as  Sarravalle,  I  declare,"  said  Sir  Henry. 
"Look,  my  dear;  "  and  he  drew  Lady  Augusta's  attention 
t  the  arcades  and  fruit  stalls.  "  We  will  just  order  dinner, 
and  then  you  and  Annette  can  walk  about  a  little,  and  if  you 
like,  buy  us  some  figs  to  carry  on  with  us  this  afternoon. 
Helen,  and    Susan,  and   I,  will  go   further  to  sec  what  the 

place  is  like." 

Lady  Augusta  seemed  pleased  at  the  idea  of  a  oomnns- 
sion,  and  Sir  Henry  handed  her  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
cailed  to  Annette  to  take  care  of  her,  and  hurried  into  the 
hotel,  to  inquire  about  a  salon  and  order  dinner. 

Helen  lingered  sadly  behind.  "  h  is  do  use^"  she  Said 
to  Susan;  "I  may  as  well  give  it  up.  Even  papa  won't 
acknowledge  that  1  can  do  anything  for  her.'! 

••  [  should  persevere," said  Susan  ;  "  things  may  change  by 


228  ivoes. 

and  by ;  one  never  knows ;  and  I  would  not  let  Annette 
take  the  upper  hand.  Now,  I  would  insist  upon  seeing  that 
the  salon  is  comfortable,  and  that  Lady  Augusta  rests  for  a 
few  minutes  before  going  out." 

Susan  turned  round,  and  saw  Annette  close  behind  her. 
She  had  left  Lady  Augusta  in  the  salon,  and  was  returned 
to  look  after  a  bag  that  was  wanted. 

Her  countenance  was  anything  but  amiable.  "  Made- 
moiselle, Miss  Graham;  Sir  Henry  will  be  coming  down 
directly.  Miladi  goes  out  with  me :  she  is  quite  comfortable, 
quite."  Annette  placed  herself  in  the  way,  so  as  almost  to 
prevent  Helen  from  passing. 

"  Thank  you,  Annette ;  I  wish  to  go  to  the  salon,  myself, 
and  see  how  mamma  is,"  was  Helen's  resolute  answer ;  and 
Annette  drew  back,  murmuring  to  herself,  and  casting  threat- 
ening glances  at  Susan,  as  she  followed  her  cousin  up  the 
stairs. 

Lady  Augusta,  changeable  as  the  wind,  had  given  up  her 
momentary  wish  to  walk,  and  was  willing  now  to  sit  by  the 
window,  and  look  out  into  the  streets.  "  She  liked  Coneglia- 
no,"  she  said ;  "  there  was  something  going  on  to  amuse  her. 
She  did  not  wan?:  her  crochet." 

"  And  if  you  and  I  stay  here  together,  mamma,"  said 
He'.sn,  "papa  and  Susan  can  take  their  walk,  and  Annette 
can  go  out  and  buy  the  fruit." 

"  No  reason  for  that,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Henry ;  "  you 
will  miss  a  good  deal ;  there's  an  upper  town  to  be  seen,  a 
curious  place  enough,  from  what  I  can  make  out.  You  had 
better  come  with  us,  and  leave  your  mamma.  Annette  un- 
derstands her  better  than  you  do." 

"  Annette  must  go  and  get  the  fruit,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
a  little  petulantly.     "  If  Helen  likes  to  stay,  she  can." 

"  Like  it,"  muttered  Sir  Henry,  "  she  does  n't  like  it,  but 
she's  always  sacrificing  herself."  He  was  evidently  discon- 
certed. 


iyors.  229 

"  You  won't  be  gone  long,  I  hope,"  continued  Lady  Au- 
gusta. '•  Dinner  will  be  ready.  I  think  you  had  better  all 
wait  till  afterwards." 

Sir  Henry  appealed  to  Susan.  "  We  had  better  be  off, 
Susan.  If  we  wait,  we  shan't  go  at  all.  Helen,  I  can't  let 
this  kind  of  thing  so  on." 

But  Helen  was  contented,  and  a  smile  passed  over  her 
features,  as  she  nodded  to  her  father  and  cousin,  and  said, 
"Good-bye  for  the  present;  you  must  tell  me  all  you  see." 
Susan  was  satisfied  then  that  the  choice  was  an  honest  one. 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

Sir  Henry  and  Susan  wandered  leisurely  up  a  steep  hill  to 
the  upper  town,  the  original  Conegliano,  enclosed  within 
walls,  and  containing  the  Duomo,  and  a  castle.  The  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  place  was  to  be  found  here,  the  ornamen- 
tal stonework  of  the  old  houses,  and  the  half-defaced  fres- 
coes with  which  they  were  ornamented,  giving  an  air  of 
quaintness  and  beauty  of  colouring  to  the  narrow  streets. 
Susar  longed  to  stop  and  sketch  every  instant,  and  Sir  Henry- 
was  bud  and  constant  in  his  regrets  that  he  had  been  fool- 
ish enough  to  give  in  to  Helen's  whim,  and  had  not  insisted 
upon  her  accompanying  them. 

"  These  old  towns  of  northern  Italy  are  quite  to  them- 
selves, Susan;  we  shan't  see  their  like  elsewhere,  and  Helen 
may  never  have  the  opportunity  of  coming  abroad  again. 
She  will  be  married,  I  dare  say,  before  long,  ami  then  there 
will  be  claims  enough  to  keep  he*  in  England.  See  the 
world  while  you  are  young,  fur  yon  may  never  lire  I"  be  old, 
is  the  wise  motto.  I  wish  I  bad  insisted.  I  wish  to  my 
heart  I  had.     Just  look  across  t"  the  opposite  side,  now; 


230  ivors. 

where  will  you  see  anything  like  that  carved  stone-work  ? 
and  the  arcades  below ;  I  wonder  whether  Lady  Augusta 
would  have  come  if  I  had  suggested  it  ?  we  could  have 
driven  up."  Sir  Henry  was  becoming  quite  excited,  wan- 
dering along,  and  dragging  Susan  with  him,  in  spite  of  her 
entreaties  to  be  allowed  to  stop. 

"  No  time,  my  dear,  no  time ;  dinner  will  be  ready.  We 
must  look  into  the  Duomo,  just  to  say  we  have  seen  it.  Here's 
a  curious  place  !  "  and  he  peeped  into  a  large  court-yard, 
partially  filled  with  tubs  and  carts,  but  bearing  traces  of  ex- 
quisite ornament  in  the  stone-work  of  the  side  walls  and  the 
roof. 

"  The  hall  of  a  house  it  must  have  been,"  continued  Sir 
Henry.  He  made  his  way  in,  and  Susan  followed,  a  little 
frightened  at  the  thought  of  trespassing,  but  considerably 
interested. 

"  Yes,  the  hall  of  a  house,  and  now  used  as  a  warehouse ; 
and  look,  there  are  some  steps  leading  to  upper  rooms. 
But  we  mustn't  stay — we  have  no  time.  On  to  the  Duomo, 
Susan." 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  Duomo,"  replied  Susan.  "  Mur- 
ray would  have  told  us  if  there  had  been  anything  worth 
seeing  there.  I  would  much  rather  stay  and  sketch  some  little 
bits  of  this  carving,  if  I  might.  I  am  sure  I  should  find 
some  which  would  do." 

"  You  can't  stay  alone,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"Oh!  yes,  Lire;  no  one  will  see  me.  Please  let  me 
stay,  and  you  can  just  walk  on  to  the  Duomo,  and  come 
back  and  tell  me  whether  there  is  anything  worth  seeing  in 
it.     It  is  quite  close." 

Sir  Henry  hesitated,  went  out  into  the  street  to  be  quite 
sure  that  the  Duomo  really  was  very  close,  came  back  again, 
and  found  Susan  already  prepared  with  her  sketch-book  and 
pencil ;  and  telling  her  he  gave  her  only  five  minutes.,  left 
her  alone. 


Ivors.  281 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  as  Susan  had  expected  to  find 
what  would  do  for  sketching,  and  especially  as  sbe  wished  to 
place  herself  so  that  she  might  be  screened  from  the  observa- 
tion of  any  one  in  the  street.  She  examined  the  building 
more  carefully.  From  the  outer  court  there  was  an  open- 
ing into  another,  heaped  up  with  dirt  and  rubbish,  yet  hav- 
ing a  beautiful  carved  and  covered  gallery  built  round  it, 
and  broken  stone  statues  lying  on  the  ground.  Tlie  place 
must  once,  she  saw,  have  been  of  considerable  grandeur ; 
perhaps  it  was  a  palace.  Her  attention  was  directed  again 
to  the  flight  of  steps  in  the  outer  court,  and  a  longing  seized 
her  to  explore  the  rooms  to  which  tbey  led.  She  stood  hes- 
itating whether  she  should  venture,  and  afraid  of  being 
missed  by  Sir  Henry,  when  the  sound  of  loud  English  voices 
disturbed  her.  It  was  a  curious  feeling,  which  made  her 
much  more  nervous  than  if  they  had  been  Italian.  English 
people,  unless  they  are  previously  acquainted,  have  an  in- 
stinctive dislike  to  meeting  each  other  abroad;  and  when 
the  party  entered  the  court,  Susan,  not  very  wisely,  hurried 
up  the  stairs.  They  terminated  in  a  passage,  the  floor  of 
which  looked  like  marble,  and  passing  along  this  she  found 
herself  in  a  large,  and  what  must  once  have  been  a  very 
handsome  room,  hung  with  tattered  paintings  of  men  in  ar- 
mour, princes  and  nobles,  with  their  titles  written  beneath, 
but  bearing  nanr.^s  unknown  in  the  marked  events  of  general 
history.  Great  and  powerful,  however,  they  must  doubtless 
have  been  in  their  day;  each  grim,  torn  portrait  having  its 
tale  of  earthly  distinction,  now  past  and  forgotten  ;  whilst  the 
phantom  forms  connected  with  tlicm,  stood  forth  mockingly  in 
their  own  halls,  preaching  eloquently  of  the  nothingness  of 
human  greatness,  by  the  very  means  intended  to  perpetuate 
its  memory. 

It  was  a  startling  sensation  which  came  upon  Susan,  when 
she  entered  thus,  unannounced,  into   die   presence  of  these 


232  ivoks. 

forgotten  nobles.  The  first  emotion  was  awe,  the  second, 
shame  at  having  intruded  ;  she  looked  round  for  some  one 
to  whom  she  miglit  apologise ;  but  she  was  alone  with  the 
silent  figures.  Without,  in  the  street,  there  was  life,  and 
mirth,  and  business ;  below,  she  could  catch  the  sound  01 
men's  voices,  speculating  and  curious,  doubtless,  like  herself; 
but  there  was  no  one  to  tell  her  where  she  was,  or  with 
whom.  The  hall  was  the  only  part  of  the  palace  apparently 
remaining,  with  the  exception  of  one  small  room  beyond,  the 
ceiling  of  which  was  painted.  She  was  lingering  in  the  hall, 
feeling  unwilling  to  leave  it,  and  looking  upon  it  as  a  dis- 
covered treasure  of  her  own,  when  the  English  voices  were 
heard  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  Susan  might  have  been  un- 
comfortable, but  that  the  first  which  was  recognised  was  that 
of  Sir  Henry  Clare. 

"  Up  here,  Hume.  "Where  won't  a  woman's  curiosity 
lead  her  ?  Susan,  child."  Susan,  rather  ashamed  of  herself, 
appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  What  did  you  think  I  was  to  do  when  you  hid  yourself? 
I  should  have  given  you  credit  for  more  sense.  We  have 
stumbled  upon  our  friends  again.  Captain  Hume,  Mr. 
George  Hume, — my  niece,  Miss  Graham.  "What  have  you 
found  here,  Susan  ?     Anything  worth  looking  at  ?  " 

Sir  Henry  made  his  way  into  the  hall ;  Susan  kept  rather 
aloof.  "  A  curious  place,  a  very  curious  place  !  "  muttered 
Sir  Henry,  and  he  had  recourse  to  Murray ;  whilst  Captain 
Hume,  and  his  intelligent  but  sickly-looking  son,  were  read- 
ing the  names  at  the  foot  of  the  pictures,  and  trying  to  ran- 
sack their  memories  for  history  which  had  never  had  a  place 
there. 

"  Monstrously  ignorant  every  one  is,"  said  Sir  Henry. 
"  Susan,  you  must  know  something  about  it;  you  haven't 
left  school  so  long  as  we  have." 

Susan  did  not  hear  ;  she  was  resting  against  the  doorway 
looking  out  into  the  passage. 


ivoes.  233 

"  Where  is  Egerton  ?  He  is  sure  to  know,  or  to  find 
out,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"  We  left  Lira  in  the  court  below,"  replied  Captain  Hume. 
"  He  always  sets  to  work  methodically  when  he  is  lionising." 

"Hark!  he  is  talking,"  said  Sir  Henry,  going  out  into 
the  passage,  and  listening :  "  he  has  found  some  one  to  give 
him  a  little  information.     We'll  have  him  up." 

He  went  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  put  his  foot  on  the  first 
step,  stumbled  over  a  loose  stone,  aud  fell  to  the  bottom. 

Susan,  Claude,  Captain  Hume  and  his  son,  were  collect- 
ed together  in  an  instant.  Sir  Henry  had  hurt  himself; 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  for  his  face  expressed  great  pain  ; 
but  he  would  scarcely  allow  it.  "  It  was  a  mere  nothing," 
he  said;  "just  a  slip,  that  was  all ;  "  and  he  took  hold  of 
Claude's  hand,  and  tried  to  stand  up  ;  but  his  ankle  was  in 
some  way  twisted,  and  his  back  bruised,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  sit  down. 

"  I  had  better  go  back  to  the  hotel  for  the  carriage," 
said  Susan,  in  the  quiet  voice  which  was  her  characteristic 
when  at  all  nervous  or  agitated. 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Claude,  "  I  will  go  ;  I  must ;  "  and 
he  would  have  hurried  away,  but  he  was  stopped  by  a  faint 
entreaty  from  Sir  Henry. 

'•  Let  her  go,  Claude  ;  she  will  manage  best.  Poor  Lady 
Augusta  will  be  frightened,  else.      Let   her  go." 

"And  I  may  go  too,  I  suppose,"  said  Claude,  eagerly. 

"Yes,  yes;  be  quick,"  exclaimed  Captain  Hume.  ".Miss 
Graham,  do  you  happen  to  have  salts  <>r  eau  de  Cologne  with 
you?''  lie  rested  Sir  Eenry's  head  against  his  knee;  the 
pain,  was  so  great. as. to  cause  a  sensation  of  faintness;  yet 
Sir  Henry  laughed  still,  and  declared  he  knew  quite  well 
what  was  the   matter.      A  sprained  ankle  !      That  Was  all. 

Susan  looked  at  him  with  some  anxiety. 

"Nothing. amiss,  child.     Don'1  put  on  such  a  long  face. 
T  Bhall  be  walking  after  you  if  yon  don'i  make  ha 
24 


234  ivoks. 

Claude  hurried  her  away. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  distance  through  the 
bustling  arcades.  Susau  did  not  notice  them  now.  A  crowd 
of  perplexing  possibilities  were  presenting  themselves ;  but 
they  excited  instead  of  depressing  her  ;  she  felt  able  to  bat- 
tle with  them  all. 

Claude  broke  the  silence.  "  I  am  thankful  we  were 
there,  but  I  don't  believe  there  is  much  the  matter;  you 
must  not  be  uneasy." 

"  I  care  most  for  Lady  Augusta,"  said  Susan.  "  She 
is  so  soon  made  ill  by  over-excitement ;  but  Helen  will  help 
to  keep  her  quiet." 

"  Is  Helen  with  Lady  Augusta  now  ?  "  asked  Claude. 

He  said  Helen  quite  naturally  again.  That  stiff,  un- 
comfortable notion  of  the  necessity  of  talking  of  her  as  Miss 
Clare  seemed  to  have  passed  away. 

"  Helen  fancied  she  might  please  Lady  Augusta  by  stay- 
ing with  her.  She  thinks  of  that  the  first  thing  always." 
Susan  spoke  very  earnestly ;  a  sense  of  justice  impelled  her. 
Helen  doubtless  ought  to  be  restored  to  Claude's  good  opinion. 
She  would  have  said  the  same,  indeed,  under  any  circum- 
stances ;  but  it  demanded  no  effort  now.  There  was  no 
room  for  jealousy.  Helen  herself  had  contributed  to  remove 
any  such  feeling.  The  tone  in  which  she  spoke  of  Claude, 
the  quiet  way  in  which,  when  his  name  was  mentioned,  she 
assumed  that  his  goings  and  comings,  his  actions  and  words, 
were  indifferent  to  her — all  tended  to  separate  him  from  her 
ii\  thought. 

Susan's  present  anxiety  was  that  he  should  think  well 
enough  of  her ;  and  that  if  they  must  meet,  it  should  be  on 
friendly  and  comfortable  terms.     She  felt  for  them  both. 

It  was  a  quick  hot  walk ;  weary,  and  anxious,  and  little 
was  said,  and  that  little  of  small  importance ;  but  Susan 
could  have  gone  much  farther,  and  scarcely  have  felt  inclined 
to  stop. 


itok?.  235 

Annette  met  them  as  they  were  about  to  enter  the  inn, 
tired,  laden  with  purchases,  and,  as  a  consequence,  out  of 
humour.  She  began  an  expostulation,  even  before  Susan  had 
time  to  speak. 

"  Miss  Graham  !  dinner  will  be  cold.  Pardon  Mon- 
sieur Egerton,  I  did  not  know  what  made  Miss  Graham  so 
late."  Her  angry  meaning  tone  roused  Claude's  indignation, 
and  excited  Susan's  surprise.  They  both  passed  on  without 
entering  upon  any  explanation,  but  Susan  stopped  as  they 
were  half,  way  up  the  stairs,  and  said  :  "  We  had  better  take 
her  into  our  counsels,  it  is  the  only  way  of  keeping  the 
peace.     Annette ! " 

Annette  came  very  slowly  up  the  stairs,  under  the  pretence 
that  she  was  too  exhausted  to  move  more  quickly. 

Susan  went  down  to  meet  her,  and  spoke  in  a  confidential 
tone.  "  Poor  Sir  Henry  has  fallen  down  and  hurt  his  foot, 
Annette.  He  is  in  the  Upper  Town,  and  he  wants  to  have 
the  carriage  sent  there  for  him.  How  shall  we  break  the 
news  to  Lady  Augusta  ?  " 

"  Sir  Henry  fallen  !  his  leg  broke  !  he  not  be  able  to 
move.  Ah!  quel  malheur I  "  And  Annette  began  to 
wring  her  hands,  and  bewail  so  loudl}',  that  the  waiters 
gathered  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  hear  the  news. 

"Quel  malheur !  quel  malheur!  Pavvre  Miladi  I " 
screamed  Annette. 

Claude  turned  round  sharply.  "  Silence  Annette  ;  don't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself.  If  you  can't  do  better  than  that, 
leave  Lady  Augusta  to  us.'' 

'Son!  non  !  you  not  understand  at  all  ;  you  nol  go  to 
her."  Annette  rushed  passed  Claude  and  Susan,  and  placed 
herself  before  the  door  of  the  salon.  "Monsieur  Egerton, 
you  order  the  carriage. — Miladi  will  go  into  the  lit  ;  she  will 
not  hear  a  stranger.     Miss  Graham,  you  come  with  rue." 

Susan  could  scarcely  refrain  from  ;>   smile.     There    sraa 


236  ivors. 

something  so  indescribably  ludicrous  in  the  instinct  which 
both  she  and  Claude  had  to  obey  Annette's  orders. 

The  smile  was  unfortunately  seen,  and  it  increased 
Annette's  indignation.  She  motioned  to  Claude  to  go,  but 
would  not  condescend  to  speak  again  ;  and  seeing  that  it  was 
really  the  best  thing  to  be  done,  he  said  quietly  to  Susan, 
"  I  shall  give  the  order,  and  then  come  back  to  see  how  Lady 
Augusta  is:"  and  ran  down  stairs. 

Annette  stood  for  an  instant  facing  Susan.  "Ah  !  young 
ladies  !  they  know  best  what  they  are  at,"  she  muttered,  half 
aloud.  "  Captain  Hume's  man,  he  say  that  Monsieur  Eger- 
ton  is  soon  taken  in." 

Happily  Susan  did  not  hear.  She  was  as  unconscious  of 
Annette's  suspicions,  as  she  was  of  having  excited  more  than 
a  momentary  annoyance. 

Claude  proceeded  to  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel  with  a 
feeling  of  fretful  irritation,  conscious  of  having  been  made  a 
subject  of  impertinent  observation,  which  yet  it  was  beneath 
him  to  notice.  His  only  hope  was  that  Susan,  in  her  sim- 
plicity, did  not  understand,  or  that,  if  she  did,  she  would  not 
care.  That  self-restrained,  composed  manner  of  hers,  cer- 
tainly put  him  very  much  at  his  ease  with  her,  ani  it  was  so 
far  dangerous  that  it  led  him  to  treat  her  in  a  way  which 
might  be  open  to  observation.  They  were  on  those  comfor- 
table brother  and  sister  terms  which  the  world  could  not 
possibly  be  supposed  to  understand  ;  and  Claude,  who  always 
faced  disagreeables  manfully,  at  once  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  be  more  prudent  for  the  future,  even  if  prudence 
destroyed  the  pleasure  and  freedom  of  their  intercourse. 
Happily,  they  were  not  likely  to  be  together  very  much,  and 
perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  under  the  circumstances  for  him 
to  keep  to  the  plan  of  going  with  Captain  Hume  to  Milan, 
and  leaving  Venice  for  the  present.  There  was  a  pang,  a 
sharp,    sharp   pang,    as   the   resolution    was   made;    Claude 


ivobs.  237 

thought  that  it  was  caused  by  the  feeling  of  loneliness,  the 
knowledge  that  his  going  to  either  place  was  a  matter  of  no 
real  moment  to  any  one. 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  salon  again,  and  was  told 
by  Susan  to  come  in.  Lady  Augusta  was  in  tears,  almost 
hysterics.  The  intelligence  of  the  accident  had  been  com- 
municated in  the  gentlest  way,  but  it  had  completely  upset 
her.  Annette  was  bustling  about  looking  for  sal  volatile,  and 
asking  the  Italian  for  camphor-julap,  and  red  lavender ; 
Susan  was  trying  to  keep  her  quiet  by  following  her  and 
talking  in  an  under  tone ;  whilst  Helen  knelt  by  Lady 
Augusta,  holding  her  hands,  and  endeavoring,  by  every 
soothing,  caressing  tone  and  word,  to  tranquillise  her. 

"  Claude!  you  are  come.  I  am  so  thankful,1'  murmured 
Lady  Augusta;  "you  will  tell  us  the  worst.  Helen,  ask 
him  to  tell  me  at  once  ;   I  can't  wait." 

Claude  read  great  anxiety  in  Helen's  eyes ;  but  she  only 
said,  without  looking  at  him,  "It  is  but  a  slight  accident, 
dear  mamma;   Susan  was  there,  and  knows  all  about  it." 

"  But  Claude — why  won't  he  speak  ?  He  keeps  every 
thing  from  me,"  said  Lady  Augusta. 

"  You  had  better  tell  her,"  said  Helen  ;  and  she  rose 
up  and  gave  her  place  to  Claude,  and  stood  behind  Lady 
Augusta,  bathing  her  forehead  with  cau  de  Cologne,  and 
every  now  and  then  whispering,  "  You  are  better  bow,  dear 
mamma,  and   so  we  are  all  ;   it  was   only  a  slight  accident." 

Claude  told  what  had  happened  iii  few  words;  but  even 
before  he  had  quite  finished,  Pietro  senl  word  thai  the  car- 
riage  was  ready. 

"  Annette  wants  to  go,"  whispered  Susan,  coming  up  to 
Helen:  "  she  fancies  nothing  can  be 'done  withonl  her." 

Lady  Augusta  caught  the  words.  "  Yes,  Annette  bad 
better  go.     Some  our  inii-i  ;j<i  with  Claude." 

Claude  sugge  ted  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  d 


238  ivors. 

that  he  should  be  quite  sufficient;  but  poor  Lady  Augusta, 
all  the  more  excitable  and  unreasonable  because  she  was 
perfectly  powerless,  could  not  be  pacified. 

"  It  can't  be,"  said  Claude,  aside  to  Susan  ;  "  that  noisy 
woman  would  drive  any  man  in  pain  out  of  his  senses." 

Helen  left  her  place  by  the  sofa,  and  came  forward.  "  I 
am  going,"  she  said  ;  "  papa  would  rather  have  me  than  any 
one  else.  Good  bye,  mamma ;  "  and  she  kissed  Lady 
Augusta  :  "  we  shall  bring  him  back  in  a  very  few  minutes, 
and  it  will  be  all  well." 

She  fastened  her  bonnet  strings,  hastily  adjusted  her 
mantilla,  and  saying  to  Claude,  "  Now,  if  you  please,  I  am 
quite  ready,"  led  the  way  downstairs,  without  giving  any  one 
the  opportunity  of  objecting. 

A  short  silent  drive  that  was  to  the  foot  of  the  steep  hill. 
Neither  Claude  nor  Helen  spoke  :  when  they  began  to  ascend, 
Claude  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  walked ;  and  when  they 
reached  the  courtyard  of  the  deserted  palace,  he  merely  said 
that  he  would  go  in  first,  and  left  her  sitting  in  the  carriage. 
It  was  Captain  Hume  who  came  out  to  tell  her  that  Sir 
Henry  was  better,  and  that  she  need  not  be  uneasy,  and 
begged  her  now  she  was  there  to  look  at  the  building ; — 
Captain  Hume  who  advised  her  how  to  place  the  cushions 
and  pillows  she  had  brought, — and  Captain  Hume  who,  when 
Sir  Henry  was  lifted  into  the  carriage,  and  Helen  seated  by 
him,  took  the  vacant  place. 

Claude  said  nothing,  did  nothing,  seemed  to  care  for 
nothing,  except  what  common  kindness  for  Sir  Henry 
demanded. 

Poor  Helen  !  It  was  a  bitter  experience,  but  ehe  felt 
that  she  had  deserved  it. 


iyors.  230 


CHAPTER    LXXIII. 

A  cabinet  council  was  held  when  dinner  was  ended.  Sir 
Henry  had  managed  to  eat  iu  spite  of  the  pain  he  was  suffer- 
ing, and  that  was  sufficient  evidence  of  the  injury  not  being 
serious,  to  satisfy  even  Lady  Augusta  for  a  time.  But  when 
the  cpiestion  of  movement  was  mooted,  all  her  fears  revived. 

Sir  Henry  was  bent  upon  proceeding.  He  had  no  no- 
tion he  said,  of  keeping  them  all  cooped  up  iu  an  out-of-the- 
way  town  like  Conegliauo,  when  they  were  within  a  day's 
journey  of  Venice.  If  he  must  have  rest,  he  would  have  it 
there.  It  was  only  the  right  foot  which  was  really  hurt, 
and  he  could  easily  get  to  the  carriage  without  putting  it  to 
the  ground,  and  when  once  there,  he  could  rest  it  just  as 
well  as  if  he  were  lying  on  a  sofa.  As  for  his  back,  he  would 
not  allow  that  it  was  injured  at  all,  though  whenever  he 
attempted  to  move  he  winced  with  pain.  He  argued,  as 
persons  who  have  any  tiling  the  matter  with  them  generally 
do,  in  the  most  foolish  and  irrational  way,  simply  in  accord- 
ance with  his  own  wishes  ;  and  as  there  was  no  one  to  con- 
trol him,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  yield. 

"  That  is  settled,  then,''  exclaimed  Sir  Henry,  when  at 
length  he  had  s-ilenccd  opposition;  "  so  we  start  forthwith. 
Claude,  my  dear  fellow,  when  shall  we  see  you  again  ?" 

Claude  had  been  standing  a  little  apart,  having  mi. in 
given  up  the  attempt  of  bringing  Sir  Henry  to  reason,  lb' 
came  forward  now,  and  replied  rather  coldly,  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  say  ;  all  depended  upou  the  letters  which  Captain 
Hume  might  find  at  Treviso. 

"Claude,"  Baid  L-nly  Augusta  plaintively,  "he  is  not 
going  to  have  us.  We  can'l  gel  on  ai  all  without  him.  We 
can't  talk  to  i'ietro;  we  can'l  'In  anything." 


240  IVORS. 

"  I  have  not  lost  the  use  of  my  tongue,  my  dear,"  said 
Sir  Henry,  impatiently;  "not  that  we  should  n't  be  very 
glad  to  have  Claude  with  us ;  very  glad,  indeed,"  he  added, 
trying  to  move  so  as  to  face  Claude. 

Claude  hesitated  to  reply,  and  looked  at  Captain  Hume 
for  his  opinion.  But  immediately  afterwards  his  eye  wan- 
dered to  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  near  which  Helen  was  seated  : 
Susan  wa3  just  behind  her,  and  the  sight  of  her  seemed  to 
settle  his  resolution  as  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  I  could  not  dis- 
arrange Captain  Hume's  plans." 

"  Don't  think  of  me,"  said  Captain  Hume,  bluntly,  but 
good-naturedly.  "  George  and  I  shall  do  very  well  together, 
and  it  may  be  only  for  a  few  days ;  we  shall  join  you  at 
Venice,  probably,  before  Sir  Henry  is  able  to  leave  it." 

"  I  don't  see  what  we  are  to  do,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
almost  crying.  "  If  we  could  only  stay  here  !  It  is  very 
pleasant  to  look  out  into  the  streets.  I  like  Conegliano. 
If  Sir  Henry  would  only  let  me  stay  !  but  he  always  will 
go  on." 

"  To  be  sure,  my  dear.  There's  a  gondola  waiting  for  you 
at  Venice,"  said  Sir  Henry,  in  the  tone  which  he  would  have 
used  in  speaking  to  a  spoilt  child.  "  Don't  fear  for  us,  Claude  ; 
don't  put  yourself  out  of  your  way  ;  I  wouldn't  have  you  do 
so  on  any  account.  Helen,  just  look  into  the  next  room  for 
Annette,  and  tell  her  to  order  the  carriage  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  You  go  on  with  us  to  Treviso  to  night  ?  "  he  added, 
addressing  Captain  Hume. 

"  Why,  no  ;  at  least  not  according  to  our  original  plans. 
You  see  we  have  had  a  longer  day's  journey  than  you ;  we 
came  from  Longarone  this  morning,  and  started  unusually 
early ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  think  my  boy  has  had  enough 
of  it.  We  talked  of  staying  here  to-night  and  having  a  rest 
for  some  hours,  and  perhaps  strolling  a  little  about  the  town 
in  the  evening,  and  making  our  way  cpuietly  on  to  Treviso  to- 
morrow." 


ivoks.  241 

The  announcement  evidently  gave  Sir  Henry  a  blank, 
uncomfortable  feeling :  he  said  nothing. 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  all  stay,"  observed  Lady 
Augusta.  "  We  can't  go  without  Claude.  Who  is  to  order 
dinner  and  look  to  our  luggage?  and  who  can  help  you,  Sir 
Henry  ?  and  what  are  Helen  and  Susan  to  do  ?  I  think  it 
very  unkind.  I  can't  go."  And  her  face  flushed,  whilst  her 
voice  was  raised  to  a  high,  harsh  pitch. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  Sir  Henry,  shortly.  "  We  have 
written  to.  secure  beds  at  Treviso,  and  Sir  John  Hume  has 
ordered  rooms  for  us  at  Danieli's  when  we  get  to  Venice, 
and  our  letters  are  all  to  be  ready  for  us :  we  must  go  on." 

Lady  Augusta  began  to  cry. 

"  The  young  ladies  give  no  opinion,"  observed  Captain 
Hume,  trying  to  say  something  which  would  put  every  one  at 
ease. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  a  comfort  if  Claude  could  go  with 
ua  to  Treviso  to-night,"  answered  Helen.  She  held  Lady 
Augusta's  hand  whilst  she  was  speaking,  and  (Maude  saw  a 
tear  drop  from  her  eye. 

He  was  decided  at  once  ;  he  did  not  even  remark  that 
Susan  said  nothing. 

"Yes;  that  cuts  the  Gordian  knot:  thank  you.  Dear 
Hiady  Augusta,  I  will  go  with  you  to-night.  Hume,  if  I  don't 
wait  for  you  at  Treviso  to-morrow,  E  will  have  a  note  to  tell 

you  why." 

"  Come,  Susan,"  said  Helen,  touching  her  cousin's  arm, 
"we  shall  be  Late  if  \w  don't,  put  OB  our  bounds.'' 

"Susan  is  in  a  dream,"' said  Sir  llmrv;  "  thinking  of  I  In-- 
deserted  palace,  the  '  Count  of  Mont  All.aV  as  b  man  told 
us  while  we  were  waiting  there. 

"Very  unlike  Miss  1 1  r.ihani,"  Bftid  Ofettdfc  "She  is 
jvreMut,  not  absent,  generally^  Wbea  anything  it  to  be  done." 
And  at  the  sound  of  his  voir  i  painfully  pre  • 


1242  ivoks. 

ent  and  coloured  so  deeply,  that  Helen  came  to  her  rescue, 
and  remarking  lightly  that  personal  observations,  whether 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  were  never  allowable,  drew  her  into 
the  adjoining  room. 


CHAPTER    LXXIV. 

The  deserted  palace  was  recalled  to  the  recollection  of  all 
who  had  seen  it,  by  the  drive  to  Treviso.  Handsome  houses 
standing  by  the  roadside,  empty  and  decaying,  gave  an  air  of 
departed  grandeur  to  the  country,  which  imparted  a  feeling 
of  melancholy,  in  spite  of  the  delicious  sensation  of  the  cli- 
mate, and  the  easy  pace  at  which  the  carriage  passed  over 
the  broad,  smooth,  and  well  kept  road,  as  usual  bordered  with 
acacia  trees. 

Sir  Henry  made  an  effort  to  talk  at  first,  but  gave  it  up 
after  a  time ;  and  Helen  was  sure,  although  he  would  not 
acknowledge  it,  that  the  motion  of  the  carriage  was  trying  to 
his  back.  Claude  had  taken  possession  of  a  small,  uncom- 
fortable, back  seat,  intended  usually  for  Annette,  but  which 
she  always  declined,  preferring  the  company  of  Pietro  on  the 
box.  He  was  therefore  quite  out  of  reach  of  conversation ; 
and  as  Lady  Augusta  soon  fell  asleep,  and  Helen  and  Susan, 
when  tired  of  the  acacia  trees,  both  began  to  read,  the  drive 
was  silent  and  dull.  It  was  late  when  th  ^y  reached  Treviso ; 
a  circumstance  which  provoked  Sir  Henry,  who  had  been 
consoling  himself  for  having  seen  nothing  on  the  road,  by  the 
prospect  of  amusement  in  the  town.  "  The  chief  city  of  a 
province, — the  residence  of  a  bishop, — a  manufacturing  place 
too,  with  eighteen  thousand  inhabitants,  cpiite  a  marvel  for 
Italy  !  it  was   too   tiresome   to   come  in  so  late,  and   only  to 


Ivors.  243 

have  a  glimpse  of  narrow  streets  and  arcades,  like  Conegliano 
and  Sarravalle,  and  to  be  off  again  the  next  niornina\" 

The  thought  of  finding  a  good  hotel  rather  consoled  him  ; 
but  here  again  there  was  disappointment.  The  rooms  were 
large,  but  unquestionably  dirty;  and  with  all  the  delight, 
which  Italy  must  inspire,  there  is  no  question  that  dirt  is  as 
much  a  part  of  its  nature  as  warmth.  Carpets  in  bedrooms 
may  be  comforts  in  a  cold  climate,  but  they  are  just  the  re- 
verse in  a  hot  one ;  and  poor  Lady  Augusta,  particular  and 
sensitive  to  a  fault,  even  at  Ivors,  looked  with  horror  at  the 
dingy  covering  spread  upon  the  floor  of  her  handsome  apart- 
ment, and  insisted  upon  it,  that  before  she  went  to  bed  it 
should  be  rolled  up  and  taken  away,  even  at  the  risk  of  dis- 
covering the  mountains  of  dust  beneath,  with  which  Annette 
threatened  her. 

Every  one  went  to  bed  early;  and  Claude  felt  really 
thankful  he  had  consented  to  come,  when  he  found  how  help- 
less Sir  Henry  was,  though  still  trying  to  keep  up,  and  in- 
sisting that  he  should  be  perfectly  well  the  next  day.  His 
back  only  wanted  a  night's  rest,  he  said,  and  the  Treviso  beds 
were  soft,  if  they  were  not  very  clean,  so  that  he  had  no 
doubt  of  being  able  to  sleep.  He  allowed  Claude,  however 
to  make  inquiry  for  a  chemist's  shop,  at  which  he  might  pro- 
cure  some  laudanum,  and  took  a  small  quantity,  though 
laughing  at  the  notion,  and  declaring  that  it  was  quite  unne- 
cessary. The  next  morning,  however,  brought  a  diflp  rent 
tone.  Whether  from  the  effects  of  the  laudanum  or  the  fall, 
Sir  Henry  did  not  feel  so  well,  and  was  disinclined  to  get  up 
to  breakfast.  A  consultation  was  held  in  his  room  with 
Claude  and  Pietro,  and  instead  of  starting  in  the  morning,  it 
was  decided  to  wait  till  the  afternoon.  The  drive  t"  M( 
was  not  very  long, and  though  the  railway  was  nut  completed, 
a  gondola  would  soon  take  them  to  Venice.  And  besides, 
one  thing  was  quite    clear    to  Claude    now,  that  it   would    1 1<.( 


24:4:  IVORS. 

do  to  leave  Sir  Henry  in  his  present  state.  It  would  be  ac- 
tually cruel  to  Helen  and  Susan,  who  were  already  beginning 
to  look  anxious  ;  and  even  if  the  plan  had  been  disagreeable, 
he  would  have  been  consoled  for  making  it,  by  the  change 
which  came  over  Lady  Augusta,  when  he  announced  his  de- 
termination of  giving  up  all  thoughts  of  Milan,  and  proceed- 
ing with  them  to  Venice,  if  Sir  Henry  should  be  well  enough 
in  the  course  of  the  day  to  move.  She  pressed  his  hand,  and 
thanked  him  as  though  he  had  saved  her  from  some  fatal  ca- 
tastrophe; but  neither  Helen  nor  Susan  expressed  satisfac- 
tion, except  that  the  former  remarked,  that  anything  which 
kept  Lady  Augusta's  mind  from  working  must  be  good.  It 
seemed  that  she  did  not  think  it  right  to  betray  any  feeling 
of  her  own,  and  imagined  that  it  was  not  her  place  to  do  so ; 
and  she  kept  quite  aloof  from  Claude,  putting  Susan  forward 
on  every  occasion.  His  being  with  them  certainly  did  not 
raise  her  spirits,  however  it  might  relieve  her  from  anxiety. 

They  went  i&to  the  town  after  breakfast.  Lady  Augusta 
seemed  so  comforted  by  Claude's  presence,  that  she  consented 
to  take  a  carriage,  and  drive  to  the  cathedral ;  and  whilst  it 
was  getting  ready,  she  begged  Claude  to  take  Helen  and 
Susan  into  the  market,  which  was  held  in  the  square  imme- 
diately in  front  of  the  hotel.  She,  as  usual,  stationed  her- 
self at  the  window,  with  Annette  by  her  side,  commenting 
in  French  upon  all  that  was  going  on  below. 

There  was  a  strange  medley:  birds,  bread,  coloured  cloth, 
handkerchiefs,  macaroni,  fruit,  fish,  flowers,  shoes  and  boots, 
both  old  and  new,  were  all  displayed  upon  the  stalls ;  and  in 
and  out  amongst  them  passed  crowds  of  men  and  women ; 
the  latter  wearing  large  straw  hats,  but  otherwise  having  a 
less  peculiar  dress  than  the  Tyrolese.  Eating  seemed  as 
much  a  part  of  the  business  of  the  day  as  buying  and  sell- 
ing :  chestnuts  boiled  in  pots,  set  over  little  pans  of  char- 
coal, and   slices  from  hot  cakes,  made  of  Indian  corn,  and 


itoes.  2  1 5 

looking  very  like  gourds,  being  the  favourite  delicacies.  The 
long  arcades  in  the  streets  were  full  of  bustle  also ;  but  the 
square  was  the  chief  attraction,  and  Helen  acknowledged  to 
Susan  that,  if  she  were  allowed  her  choice,  she  thought  she 
should  prefer  staying  there,  if  Annette  could  be  with  her, 
and  trying  to  sketch  rather  than  going  to  the  cathedral. 

Claude  began  a  sentence  which  sounded  as  though  he  in- 
tended  to  offer  to  stay  also ;  but  Helen  interrupted  him  be- 
fore it  was  finished,  by  saying  in  a  very  quiet  tone,  that 
she  could  not  allow  Lady  Augusta  to  drive  about  without 
her. 

"  I  would  take  great  care  of  her,"  said  Susan,  whilst 
unconsciously  at  the  same  moment  a  change  came  over 
her  face,  which  showed  that  she  did  not  enter  into  the 
idea. 

<l  Thank  you  ;  I  know  you  would.  But  she  was  pleased 
with  my  being  with  her  yesterday,  and  I  would  rather  not 
leave  her  to-day." 

And  so  they  drove  to  the  cathedral,  a  handsome  but  un- 
finished building,  with  five  domes;  and  Lady  Augusta  sat 
in  the  carriage  whilst  the  rest  went  in,  and  looked  at  Porde- 
none's  ruined  frescos,  and  tried  to  admire  a  Titian  over  the 
high  altar,  and  studied  a  curious  old  picture,  representing  a 
procession  of  the  authorities  of  the  town;  and  at  last  stole 
apari  from  each  other  to  enjoy  the  building  alone,  till  Helen 
suggested  that  Lady  Augusta  would  be  tired. 

l-  Pictures  are  thrown  away  in  a  church, "  said  Claude, 
as  he  Beated  himself  in  the  carriage,  and  told  the  driver  to 
take  (hem  to  Ban  Nicolo ;  "at  least,  that  is  the  conclusion 
1  have  arrived  at.  Perhaps  one  over 'the  altar  niaj  be  an 
exeeptioB,  but  even  then,  1  doubt  whether  carving  is  not 
better.  If  they  are  good  they  draw  one's  attention  from  the 
effect  of  the  building;  and  if  thej  are  bad  they  are  simply 
disfigurement 


216  ivoks. 

"  If  one  could  get  over  the  feeling  that  it  is  one's  duty 
to  look  at  them,  it  would  not  signify,"  said  Susan;  "hut 
whatever  is  mentioned  in  the  Guide  Book  it  seems  part  of 
one's  travelling  business  to  examine.  After  all,  I  suppose, 
we  are  great  moral  cowards  in  these  matters.  Shall  we 
give  up  searching  for  pictures  fh  churches  for  the  future, 
Helen  ?  " 

Helen  did  not  seem  to  understand  that  she  was  ad- 
dressed ;  but  when  Susan  repeated  the  question,  she  said,  a 
little  sadly,  that  she  had  not  looked  at  the  pictures  in  the 
cathedral ;  at  least,  she  had  not  thought  about  them. 

"  You  were  with  us,"  said  Claude,  quickly. 

"  Only  just  for  the  first  few  minutes ;  but  you  did  not 
notice  when  I  moved  away." 

Claude  was  silent ;  and  a  strange  pang  of  pity,  mingled 
with  some  other  feeling,  almost  akin  to  satisfaction,  was  felt 
by  Susan.  It  did  seem  that  when  she  was  near,  Claude  had 
no  thought  for  any  one  else. 

San  Nicolo  was  ugly  enough  on  the  outside  to  induce 
Susan  to  propose  that  they  should  exercise  their  moral  cour- 
age, and  not  trouble  themselves  to  examine  it ;  but  Claude 
objected.  It  was  the  first  specimen  he  had  seen  of  the  old 
brick  buildings  to  be  found  in  the  north  of  Italy,  and  he  was 
anxious  to  look  at  it  more  closely.  Susan,  yielding  to  his 
slightest  suggestion,  was  out  of  the  carriage  before  he  was 
able  to  assist  her ;  and  owned  herself  repaid  by  the  general 
effect  of  the  interior,  and  struck  by  the  peculiarity  of  seeing 
the  great  pillars  in  the  aisle  half  covered  with  crimson  cloth. 
Helen,  as  before,  kept  aloof,  and  not  only  when  they  were 
in  the  church,  but  afterwards  as  they  drove  round  the  town. 
She  allowed  Claude  to  continue  a  conversation  with  Susan 
without  attempting  to  take  part  in  it,  and  seemed  only  em- 
ployed in  pointing  out  to  Lady  Augusta  all  that  was  worth 
noticing;  whilst  Claude,  safe  from   Annette's  remarks,  and 


iyoes.  247 

delighted  to  find  some  one  who  could  share  his  tastes,  entered 
con  amore  into  the  subject  of  the  Lombard  brick  architec- 
ture, promising,  as  soon  as  they  reached  Venice,  to  show 
Susan  some  books  upon  the  subject  which  he  had  brought 
with  him. 

They  found  Sir  Henry  better  on  their  return ;  Claude 
acted  the  part  of  valet,  and  assisted  him  to  dress.  Sir 
Henry  himself  made  many  apologies  for  the  trouble  he  gave, 
blaming  himself  for  not  having  foreseen  the  possibility  of 
an  accident,  and  brought  a  servant,  or  a  courier,  or  some  one 
of  mankind  with  him  ;  an  omission,  he  assured  Claude,  which 
was  entirely  owing  to  Annette,  who  was  essential  to  Lady  Au- 
gusta, and  had  quarrelled  so  grievously  with  the  courier  at 
Innsbruck  that  they  had  been  obliged  to  leave  him  behind. 
"  A  woman  at  the  bottom  of  the  trouble  ! — always  the  case, 
Claude,"'  he  said,  whilst  Claude  helped  him  to  hop  into  the 
salon..  "You  remember  the  story  of  the  Shah  of  Persia: 
when  he  was  told  that  a  workman  had  fallen  from  a  ladder, 
he  called  out,  'Who  is  she?  who  is  she?'  'Please  your 
Majesty,  't  is  a  he.'  '  Nonsense,  there's  never  an  accident 
without  a  woman.  Who  is  she  ? '  The  Shah  was  right, 
Claude ;  the  man  had  fallen  from  his  ladder  because  he  was 
looking  at  a  woman  at  a  window.  Many  a  man  does  that  in 
other  countries  besides  Persia." 

They  left  Treviso  early  in  the  afternoon,  Sir  Henry 
grumbling  at  the  dark  salon  in  which  (hey  had  dined, 
giving  vent  to  as  much  rage  as  his  good-nature  would  allow 
at  the  terrific  bill  brought  him  by  the  landlord,  whose  only 
excuse  was,  that  he  had  charged  more  because  it  was  market- 
day  ! 

No  tidings  had  been  heard  of  Captain  Hume  and  his  bod  , 
but  Claude  left  a  note,  telling  them  why  1"'  found  it  im- 
possible to  have  Sir  Henry,  and  urging  them,  if  possible,  to 
follow  them  to  Venice. 


24:8  ivoks. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

Another  long  dull  drive  to  Mestre,  of  all  places  the  most 
uninteresting.  What  situation  could  be  more  destitute  of 
beauty,  than  the  low,  swampy  levels  bordering  the  narrow 
channel  of  the  sea  which  separates  Venice  from  tiie  mainland  ? 
It  requires  every  early  historical  association  of  Attila  and 
his  invading  Huns,  and  the  flight  of  the  frightened  Italians, 
and  the  wonderful  rise  of  the  fairy  city  from  the  islands  bor- 
dered by  the  muddy  Lagune,  to  give  the  slightest  charm  to 
the  approach  to  Venice.  Yet  so  strong  is  the  power  of  ima- 
gination, that  few  probably  can  for  the  first  time  find  them- 
selves in  a  gondola,  pushing  off  from  the  shore,  and  floating 
away  between  low  flat  banks,  without  a  house,  a  tree,  or  even 
a  fence  in  view,  and  not  experience  a  sensation  so  new  and 
bewildering,  and  yet  so  exciting,  that  it  would  not  be  ex- 
changed for  the  delight  of  the  most  glorious  scenery  of  the 
Alps. 

"  A  gondola,  my  dear,  you  see,"  said  Sir  Henry  to  Lady 
Augusta,  as  they  drove  down  to  the  waterside,  and  saw  the 
long  narrow  boat,  with  a  curved  beak  and  sepulchral  awning, 
drawn  up  alongside  the  quay. 

Poor  Lady  Augusta  was  tired,  and,  as  usual,  inclined  to 
be  fretful.  She  could  not  see,  she  said,  how  they  were  all 
to  get  into  the  gondola,  it  was  so  small.  And  what  would 
Sir  Henry  do  with  his  lame  leg  ? 

"  We  must  have  two  gondolas,"  said  Claude,  coming  up 
to  the  side  of  the  carriage — "  one  for  Annette  and  the  lug- 
gage, and  the  other  for  ourselves." 

"  Not  quite  room  enough,  I  am  afraid,  even  then,"  said 
Sir  Henry,  laughing,  "  considering  that  I  go  for  two.  Thoso 
ancient  senators  never  travelled,  I  conclude,  or  they  would 


IVORS.  2  40 

have  provided  some  more  convenient  mode  of  transit  for  the 
bags  and  boxes." 

"  Well !  then  Annette  and  I  will  occupy  the  luggage- 
gondola,"  said  Claude,  good-uaturedlj. 

But  Lady  Augusta  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing.  She 
could  not  stir  without  Claude.  "  If  the  gondola  should  up- 
set," she  said,  "  what  would  Sir  Henry  do  ?  " 

Claude  laughed  heartily,  which  rather  displeased  Lady 
Augusta,  but  she  still  would  not  allow  the  possibility  of 
going  in  a  gondola  without  him.  Susan  was  about  to  speak 
when  the  question  was  set  at  rest  by  Helen,  who  pushed 
open  the  carriage  door,  jumped  out,  and  going  up  to  Annette, 
said,  t;  Now,  Annette,  you  and  I  must  manage;  we  are  to 
go  together." 

"Ah/  ovi ;  trials,  que  fcrons  nous?  Arretez-vous ! 
o  7  a.llez-vous  ?  where  you  taking  that  box?"  and  Annette 
caught  hold  of  one  of  the  host  of  porters  and  beggars  who 
crowded  the  quay,  and  were  seizing  upon  the  luggage  as 
1'ietro  took  it  off  the  carriage,  conveying  it  away  whither 
they  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  tell. 

Claude  came  to  her  assistance,  and  forbade  any  thing  to 
be  moved  till  he  had  given  orders,  telling  Annette,  at  the 
same  time,  to  stand  by  and  guard  it,  whilst  he  placed  Helen 
in  the  gondola. 

'•You  solved  our  difficulty  for  us,"  he  said,  when  thev 
stood  for  a  moment  together  on  the  quay;  "but  no  ono 
thanked  you." 

11 1  don't  want  thanks,"  was  Helen'.-.;  reply  ;  "  it  was  my 
place." 

And  Claude  said  no  more. 

A  considerable  time  elapsed  before  Sir  Henry  and  Lady 
Augusta,  and  the  luggage,  and,  above  all,  Annette,  could  bri 
properly  disposed  of.  Without  Claude's  assistance  it  would 
have  been  almosl  a  work  of  impossibility.     Annette,  good- 


250  ivors. 

natured  in  general,  was  still  never  forgetful  of  herself ;  and 
there  was  a  certain  basket,  containing  some  secret  valuables, 
which  was  not  at  once  forthcoming  when  she  looked  for  it  in 
the  luggage-gondola ;  and  not  all  Claude's  assurances  that 
everything  had  been  put  in,  nor  Helen's  entreaties  that  she 
would  not  delay  any  longer,  could  induce  her  to  move  her 
foot  from  the  quay  till  it  was  found.  Fiercely  she  inter- 
rogated the  unfortunate  porters,  and  threatened  the  beggars, 
and  scolded  Mademoiselle,  and  cast  scornful  glances  at 
Claude.  They  might  have  waited  for  her  till  midnight,  she 
cared  not ;  Lady  Augusta  was  dependent  upon  her,  and  they 
could  not  move  without  her. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Claude,  seeing  Helen's  distressed 
face,  as  Sir  Henry  raised  his  voice  in  towering  indignation, 
whilst  Lady  Augusta  began  to  cry,  "  we  will  go,  and  return 
for  her."  He  made  a  sign  to  the  gondoliers;  and  Annette, 
seizing  his  arm,  gave  abound,  which  drew  a  shout  of  laughter 
from  the  bystanders,  and  found  her  place  in  the  gondola,  and 
her  basket  under  the  seat. 

"  Off  at  last !  "  said  Sir  Henry,  as  the  gondola  was  push- 
ed away  from  the  bank.  "  We  are  later  than  we  ought  to 
be ;  but  that  we  always  are.  Annette  shall  have  a  consider- 
able rowing  when  we  get  back  to  Ivors ;  we  can't  afford  it 
now.' 

He  looked  round  rather  anxiously.  The  evening  shades 
were  deepening,  and  clouds  were  gathering  in  the  sky,  threat- 
ening a  thunderstorm.  No  one  replied  to  his  observation 
The  stillness  of  the  air  and  the  gliding  motion  of  the  gon- 
dola, moving  on  seemingly  without  effort,  had  a  subduing, 
solemnising  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  all.  It  seemed  as 
though  ihey  were  wandering  forth  on  a  voyage  of  discovery 
propelled  by  some  unknown  power.  There  was  neither  the 
restless  life  of  the  ocean  nor  the  firmness  of  the  land  to  give 
power  and  energy  to  their  movements  ;  but  on  they  floated, 


IYOES.  251 

slurnberingly,  silently,  as  in  search  of  some  phantom  city  of 
rest,  lying  far  off,  amidst  the  shadows  of  night. 

Another  delay  : — An  Austrian  government  vessel  was 
moored  at  the  entrance  of  the  narrow  passage,  and  passports 
were  demanded,  and  given  up  to  be  examined  :  and  Lady 
Augusta  fell  fairly  asleep,  whilst  the  gondola  waited  beneath 
the  dark  vessel, — the  light  of  some  dim  candles  bringing  out, 
in  Eembrandt-like  relief,  the  figures  of  the  lew  soldiers  on 
the  deck. 

But  an  end  came  at  last.  The  passports  were  restored; 
and  again  they  glided  on,  away  from  the  narrow  banks,  and 
across  one  of  the  many  channels  of  the  Adriatic,  which  open 
a  way  through  the  Lagune  to  the  island  city. 

"  See,"  said  Claude, — he  laid  one  hand  involuntarily  upon 
Susan's,  and  with  the  other  pointed  to  the  horizon.  A  flash 
of  lightning  glanced  from  the  dark  clouds ;  and,  rising  out 
of  the  water,  a  line  of  tall,  misty  buildings  burst  for  one  mo- 
ment upon  the  sight,  and  then  all  was  darkness  again,  and 
silence,  and  mystery,  till  the  sound  of  bells,  with  a  slow  and 
heavy  toll,  came  softly  over  the  sea;  and  tiny  had  reach  d 
Venice. 

The  flashes  of  the  summer  lightning  soon  became  more 
brilliant.  Lady  Augusta,  aroused  from  her  short  slumber, 
would  have  been  excited  and  frightened  but  for  Claude's  | 
cnce.  Her  trust  in  him  seemed  unbounded, ;  and  he  man 
aged  her  so  kind'y,  yet  so  firmly ; — Susan  could  not  help  sav- 
ing to  him  once,  that  they  must  be  very  thankful  to  him ; 
and  he  answered  simply,  that  it  was  an  equal  cause  of  thank- 
fulness to  him.  His  first  sight  of  Venice  would  have  been 
very  different  to  him  if  he  had  been  with  those  who  could  qoI 
feel  with  him. 

A  line  of  houses  was  now  before  them.  It  Beeined  thai 
they  were  approaching  directly  in  front  of  them;  bui  the 
gondoliers  '1'  :terously  turned  a  .-harp  corner,  and  the}  found 


2  52  ivors. 

themselves  in  a  street  of  water, — the  tall,  irregular  houses  on 
each  side,  built  of  brick,  and  having  sufficient  space  before 
than  for  a  footpath.  But  this  was  only  at  the  entrance  of 
the  city  :  as  the  gondolas  entered  narrower  canals,  the  walls 
of  the  buildings  came  close  to  the  water's  edge,  and  doors 
opened  from  the  houses  directly  upon  it.  Yet  the  sight  of 
human  habitations  gave  but  little  idea  of  human  existence. 
Gloom,  stillness,  mystery  brooded  over  the  faintly-gleaming, 
watery  streets.  There  were  no  sounds  of  mirth  in  the  houses, 
no  indications  of  the  bustle  of  traffic  or  the  excitement  of 
pleasure.  The  idea  of  any  living  being  as  connected  with 
those  once  princely  dwellings  never  suggested  itself  to  the 
mind.  It  might  well  have  been  a  city  of  the  dead  ;  for  the 
only  life  that  exhibited  itself  was  the  ghostly  gondola,  which 
occasionally  glided  by  like  a  floating  coffin,  giving  notice  of  its 
approach  by  the  light  fastened  to  the  awning,  and  casting  a 
sudden  gleam  upon  the  carving  and  ornament  of  some  house, 
splendid  even  in  its  decay ;  and  then  passing  noiselessly 
away,  and  leaving  all  again  to  th3  increasing  darkness. 

But  the  gondolas  emerged  from  the  narrow  canal,  and 
crossed  one  much  broader,  and  more  winding  iu  its  course. 
Lights  were  seen  in  the  houses,  lights  upon  the  wide  covered 
bridge,  with  its  single  arch  spanning  the  canal. 

"The  Bialto,"  said  Claude  to  Susan;  and  she  instinct- 
ively looked  up,  as  though  the  forms  of  Sliylock  and  Antonio 
were  still  to  be  seen  there,  forgetful  of  Murray's  warning,  so 
kindly  destructive  of  all  such  fond  imaginations,  that  in 
Shakspear^'s  time  the  present  Ponte  di  Bialto  could  scai  ?ely 
have  been  completed. 

"  If  Helen  were  but  with  us  !  "  said  Susan.  She  looked 
back  to  be  quite  certain  that  the  other  gondola  was  following. 

"  We  could  have  found  room  for  her,"  said  Sir  Henry 
"  only  she  was  so  quick  in  her  arrangements.  I  think  she 
likes  to  make  a  victim  of  herself." 


ivoks.  253 

Claude  bent  over  the  side  of  the  gondola,  and  strained 
his  eyes  to  see.  He  fell  into  a  reverie  after  Sh  Henry's 
remark,  and  Susan  was  fretted  at  finding  that  the  congenial 
.silence  was  quite  broken,  and  that  she  was  obliged  to  talk  to 
her  uncle,  and  to  Lady  Augusta. 

"  We  must  be  near  Dauieli's  now,"  said  Sir  Henry ;  "  I 
believe  it  is  close  upon  the  Grand  Canal." 

Lady  Augusta  was  revived  bv  the  intelligence,  for  she 
was  becoming  excessively  tired,  and  inclined  to  complain  be- 
cause Annette  was  not  with  her,  though  what  assistance 
Annette  could  have  afforded  under  the  circumstances  was 
quite  a  problem. 

"  .Not  quite  so  close  either,"  continued  Sir  Henry  in  a 
disappointed  tone.  "  Why,  we  are  getting  into  those  narrow 
places  again, — very  romantic,  I  dare  say,  they  are,  but  there 
is  no  end  to  them." 

Sir  Henry  was  right.  In  and  out  went  the  gondolas 
again,  all  in  the  darkness  and  quietness.  At  length  they 
entered  one  canal  which  was  singularly  narrow  and  gloomy. 
The  dim  light  still  lingering  in  the  sky  showed  that  it  was 
shut  in  by  two  large  buildings;  one  lofty  and  richly  orna- 
mented, the  other  lower  and  perfectly  plain.  A  high  covered 
bridge  connected  them. 

u  11  Poiite  dei  Sospiri,"  said  the  foremost  gondolier;  and 
even  Lady  Augusta  sat  more  upright  as  tiny  drew  near  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs;  and  turning  to  her  husband,  she  said: 
"  Do  they  keep  the  people  in  prison  paw,  as  they  used  to 
do  ?  " 

Sir  Henry  made  no  reply.  They  were  passing  under  the 
high  arch;  and  even  sixty  yen-  of  rough  contact  with  the 
vmrbi  had  not  extinguished,  though  it  mighl  have  deadened,] 
the  feelings  of  horror  and  indignation  which  the  most 
noted  scene  of  Venetian  tyranny  is  calculated  to  excite. 
Lut  they  were  only  momentary.    The  gondola  turn<  d  i  harply 


25-i  ivors. 

round-  the  corner  of  the  palace,  and  once  more  they  were  in 
the  Grand  Canal,  and  in  sight  of  the  brilliantly  lighted 
and  exquisitely  beautiful  arcades  of  the  Piazzetta  of  St. 
Mark,  with  the  tall  granite  Byzantine  columns,  keeping 
guard,  as  it  were,  over  the  soul  of  the  city. 

For  human  existence  in  Venice — that  existence,  at  least, 
which  first  meets  the  eye  of  the  stranger — is  all  concentrated 
in  the  great  square  of  St.  Mark  :  without,  all  is  still  and 
sepulchral  in  its  solemnity ;  within,  all  is  mirth,  light  and 
gaiety.  As  the  republic  was  in  its  political  career,  so  is  the 
city  still  in  its  outward  form — life  and  death,  the  most  spark- 
ling beauty  and  the  deepest  gloom,  have  there  for  centuries 
stood  side  by  side ;  and  the  noiseless  transition  from  the 
sparkling  loveliness  of  the  Piazzetta  to  the  darkness  of  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  is  but  the  type  of  that  secret,  sudden,  often 
repeated  transit,  so  common  in  Venetian  history,  from 
the  hopes  and  gladness  of  life  to  the  dread  stillness  of  the 
grave. 

"  Danieli's  at  last !  "  It  was  Claude  who  made  the  re- 
mark, as  they  stopped  in  front  of  an  archway  in  a  side 
canal,  with  steps  leading  down  to  the  water  side.  Claude 
hastened  to  inquire  for  rooms,  as  they  had  been  ordered 
some  days  before,  and  he  supposed  they  were  all  ready.  But 
the  face  of  the  master  of  the  hotel  excited  his  consternation. 
He  seemed  totally  unprepared  for  such  an  arrival — there 
had  been  some  mistake.  Rooms  had,  indeed,  been  ordered 
for  a  party  travelling  from  Innsbruck,  but  they  had  arrived, 
they  had  already  taken  possession. 

"  No  mistake  at  all,"  was  Claude's  answer.  "  We  wrote 
to  a  friend  to  engage  the  rooms ;  we  expected  to  have  the 
rooms ;  in  fact,  we  must  have  them.  There  are  two  invalids 
in  the  party,  and  they  must  be  accommodated." 

"  Very  unfortunate  !  extremely  perplexing  !  "  The  civil 
landlord's  obsequiousness  increased  with  his  difficulties  :  "  he 


ivoes.  255 

had  no  doubt  he  should  be  able  to  manage ;  the  hotel  hap- 
pened unfortunately  to  be  extremely  full ;  but  he  had  rooms, 
very  comfortable — they  should  be  prepared." 

Claude  hesitated,  having  some  doubt  about  the  comfort- 
able rooms  in  a  house  already  overcrowded.  He  went  back 
to  suggest  to  Sir  Henry  that  they  should  try  another  hotel. 

Lady  Augusta,  however,  was  urgent  to  remain  where 
they  were  ;  she  was  very  tired,  and  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  aud 
she  tried  to  leave  the  gondola  even  before  Claude  was  ready 
to  give  her  his  hand. 

Sir  Henry  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  she  must 
have  her  way  ;  but  he  would  not  attempt  to  move  himself 
until  he  was  quite  sure  that  Lady  Augusta  would  not  change 
her  mind.     "And  you  can  stay  too,  Susan,"  he  added. 

But  Susan  had  followed  Lady  Augusta,  and  was  already 
standing  on  the  steps. 

"  "We  must  not  forget  that  there  arc  letters  here,"  she 
said.  "  Sir  John  Hume  must  have  remembered  them,  in 
spite  of  the  blunder  about  the  rooms." 

"  But  Claude  can  ask  fur  them,  child  ;  there  is  no  occa- 
sion fur  you  to  trouble  yourself." 

"Thank  you,  no;  I  would  rather  go,  it  will  make  me 
happier:"  and  Susan,  in  her  eagerness,  hastened  after  the 
master  of  the  hotel  asking  her  own  questions,  without  wait- 
ing for  Claude. 

"  "What  is  the  matter  with  Susan  ?  Why  does  Bhe  flurry 
so?"  said  Lady  Augusta,  as  Claude  led  her  slowly  up  the 
staircase.  "She  heard  from  home  a' short  time  ago;  what 
can  she  want  to  hear  again  for  ?  " 

Claude  smiled  at  the  question.  He  had  no!  remarked 
Susan's  eagerness  as  anything  unusual,  until  Lady  Augusta 
drew  his  attention  to  it.  Ther  it  made  but  little  impression, 
for  he  was  thinking  only  of  the  "comfortable  apartments." 
They  were  Bhown    into  a  dingy  salon,  evidently  the  forlorn 


256  ivoks. 

hope  of  the  hotel,  never  to  be  used  except  in  cases  of  emer- 
gency. Lady  Augusta  sat  down  in  the  nearest  chair,  and 
looked  round  her  in  dismay.  "  Venice  ! — this  Venice  !  " 
She  had  expected  a  palace. 

"  The  best  we  have,  very  sorry ;  but  all  will  be  found 
extremely  comfortable,''  said  the  landlord,  with  one  of  his 
most  courteous  bows. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  the  letters  very  much,"  said  Su- 
san, in  a  timid  tone. 

"  But  we  must  look  at  the  bedrooms  first,"  observed 
Lady  Augusta,  fretfully.  "  I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  sleep 
in  a  place  like  this ;  and  beds  were  ordered.  It  is  very 
wrong ;  we  should  not  have  cared  what  we  paid.  Where  is 
Annette  ?     I  want  her." 

Annette  appeared  at  the  door  with  Helen,  porters  follow- 
ed behind,  bringing  boxes  and  bags,  with  which  the  floor  was 
soon  covered. 

"  I  could  not  prevent  them,"  said  Helen,  going  up  to 
Claude.  "  I  suspect  the  landlord  had  given  them  orders,  not 
wishing  to  lose  us.     But  these  rooms  won't  do." 

"  They  must  for  to-night,"  observed  Claude.  "  Won't 
you  look  at  the  bedrooms  now  ?  and  then  I  will  go  back  for 
Sir  Henry." 

"  Venez,  mademoiselle,  venez"  said  Annette,  authorita- 
tively, opening  the  door  of  a  bedroom  adjoining  the  salon 
"  Miss  Graham,  you  come  too." 

But  Susan  was  quite  lost  to  present  interests.  The  land- 
lord had  produced  a  letter  for  her,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
bustle  and  Shattering,  the  rushing  to  and  fro,  the  flinging 
down  of  boxes  upon  the  floors,  the  complaints  of  Annette, 
and  the  murmurings  of  Lady  Augusta,  she  stood  reading  her 
letter  by  the  light  of  a  dim  lamp,  placed  upon  a  square, 
uncovered  table,  which  only  served  to  bring  out  in  stronger 
relief  the  general  discomfort  of  the  apartment. 


ivoks.  257 

Claude  glanced  at  her  countenance — excitement,  agita- 
tion, a  strange  mixture  of  joy  and  sorrow  were  to  be  read 
there.  She  read  on  and  on  rapidly,  as  though  she  could 
not  bear  to  lose  a  word  ;  then  turned  back  to  obtain  a  mean- 
ing which  in  her  eagerness  she  had  missed  ;  and  at  length, 
folding  up  the  letter,  looked  round  her,  with  the  air  of  one 
just  wakened  from  a  dream. 

"  Lady  Augusta  and  Helen  are  gone  to  sec  the  bed- 
rooms." said  Claude. 

"  Oh  [  yes."  Susan's  very  quiet  manner  was  restored 
when  she  became  conscious  of  the  presence  of  another,  and 
she  walked  into  the  adjoining  room  without  allowing  any 
further  sign  of  excited  feeling  to  betray  itself.  Here  she 
found  sufficient  certainly  to  concentrate  her  attention  upon 
the  present.  Lady  Augusta  was  almost  in  hysterics.  "  Such 
a  cold  unfurnished  room  !  Such  a  miserable  place  !  And 
beds  covered  in  with  those  close  curtains,  they  would  stifle 
her  ;  she  should  not  sleep  all  night.  Mosquitos  !  what  busi- 
ness had  mosquitos  in  a  first-rate  hotel  ?  It  was  quite  shock- 
ing. And  how  could  she  dress  ?  There  was  no  dressing- 
table, — no  washing-stand, — nothing.  Danieli's  hotel  good  ! 
It  was  the  very  worst  she  had  ever  entered." 

Helen  suggested  that  they  had  no  right  to  expect  any- 
thing better  under  the  circumstances.  These  were  evidently 
never  used  except  from  ne<  essity 

"  Then  why  give  them  to  OS  ?  it  is  an  insult.  I  won't 
stay  here.     How  am  I  to  drej 

Annette  opened  the  door  into  a  Little  dreBsing-room,  but 
this  only  served  to  make  matters  worse.  It  was  bul  a  long 
dark  strip;  the  floor,  encrusted  to  represent  marble,  seemed 
a  mixture  of  cold  and  dirt.  Lady  Augusta  Looked  in,  ami 
then  sat  down  in  a  chair  wringing  her  hands. 

"  We  will  go  to  another  hotel,  dear  mamma,"  said  1  Lelen, 
gently.     "  This  is  not  the  only  one  to  be  found  in  Venice." 


25  S  i  voits. 

"  But  to-night !  what  for  to-night  ?"  exclaimed  Anuette. 
"Just  see;1'  she  pointed  to  some  boxes,  which  had  been 
brought  into  the  room.  "  It  will  take  an  hour  to  carry  them 
down  stairs  asrain." 

Helen  drew  near  to  Susan,  who  was  standing  in  the  door- 
way between  the  salon  and  the  bedroom.  "  What  must  we 
do?"  she  said;  "if  this  is  the  best  room,  what  will  the 
worst  be  ?     I  don't  think  we  possibly  can  remain." 

Susan,  usually  so  sympathetic,  appeared  suddenly  to 
have  lost  her  sympathy.  She  answered,  in  an  abstracted, 
wondering  tone,  "  Can't  we  ?" 

Helen  was  provoked,  and  said  sharply,  "  No,  we  can't. 
Mamma  won't  bear  it."  But  the  irritation  was  checked  in 
a  moment,  as  she  added,  "  I  think,  Susan,  you  are  tired." 

"  Rather,  yes  ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  try  another 
hotel,"  said  Susan,  endeavouring  to  shake  off  her  absence  of 
mind.  She  moved  to  speak  to  Claude ;  but  he  was  quite 
close,  and  had  heard  what  passed.  Scarcely  noticing  Helen, 
he  addressed  himself  to  Susan,  seeming  to  imagine  that  the 
arrangement  of  everything  rested  with  her.  It  was  quite 
clear,  he  said,  that  it  would  be  better  to  try  another  hotel ; 
but  as  the  same  thing  might  happen  again,  he  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  order  tea  for  Lady  Augusta,  Helen,  and 
Susan,  and  t^en  go  himself  in  the  gondola  with  Sir  Henry, 
to  see  if  they  could  find  better  accommodation  at  the  Impe- 
ratore,  which  had  also  been  recommended  to  him.  If  they 
could  have  superior  rooms  there,  he  would  return  for  them. 

He  said  this  to  Susan ;  but  it  was  Helen  who  thanked 
him  so  heartily,  so  gracefully !  with  her  marvellously  be- 
witching smile ;  softened,  as  it  had  been  of  late,  into  an  ex- 
pression in  which  a  latent  sadness  could  always  be  perceived. 
It  was  a  reproach  to  Claude's  sensitive  conscience  for  not 
having  put  her  prominently  forward ;  but  Helen  was  always 
in  the  background  now,  except  where  Lady  Augusta's  com- 
fort was  concerned. 


iv.n;s.  259 

Lady  Augusta,  after  a  little  persuasion,  couseuted  to  the 
plan  proposed.  Tea  was  prepared  in  the  general  salon  of 
the  hotel,  a  long,  large  room,  not  particularly  attractive  in 
appearance  ;  but  it  was  a  great  luxury  to  have  good  coffee, 
and  fresh  bread  and  butter,  and  all  other  et-ceteras  placed 
upon  the  table  in  a  style  which  would  not  have  disgrace  d 
Paris;  and  again  Lady  Augusta's  mind  had  assumed  a  new 
phase,  and  when  Claude  returned  with  the  intelligence  that 
he  had  secured  splendid  rooms  at  the  Imperatore,  she  would 
-willingly .have  remained  where  she  was,  and  might  even  have 
complained  of  Claude,  if  Helen  had  not  undertaken  his  de- 
fence, and  insisted  that  they  were  under  the  greatest  obliga- 
tion to  him,  aud  could  not  possibl}'  have  managed  without 
him. 

So  orders  were  given  to  Annette  to  pack  the  carpet-bags 
again,  she  in  her  energy  having  begun  to  unpack  them,  and 
once  more  the  porters  rushed  backwards  and  forwards  with 
the  luggage,  and  the  landlord,  polite  still,  but  very  cold,  was 
paid  his  bill,  and  in  about  ten  minutes'  time,  the  whole  party 
were  gliding,  as  before,  in  a  gondola,  along  the  great  thor- 
oughfare of  the  silent  city.  This  time  it  was  Susan  who  took 
her  place  with  the  luggage,  before  any  one  had  time  to  re- 
mark what  she  was  doing.  Claude  and  Helen  sat  togetbei 
without  speaking,  whilst  the  brilliant  Piazza,  the  tall  build' 
hlgs,  the  lights  in  the  windows  reflected  in  the  water,  pa  •! 
1><  fore  them  like  the  unrealised  beauty  of  a  dream ;  and  like 
a  dream  too,  or  rather  like  the  unsubstantial  reality  of  fairy 
land,  was  the  grandeur  of  the  Imperatore,  a  palace  in  appear- 
ance, once  a  palace  in  fact.  The  flight  of  broad  steps,  and 
the  large  court  surrounded  by  pillars,  and  having  a  fountain 
in  the  centre,  the  splendid  suite  of  rooms,  with  painted  walla 
and  ceiling,  floors  representing  marble*,  and  sofas  and  chairs 
covered  with  crimson  ami  white  damask,  were  Btrangely  in 
contra.-t   with   the   din;  of    Treviso,  and    t!  tily- 


200  ivors. 

furnished  apartments  of  Capo  di  Ponte,  and  Cortina  d'Am- 
pezzo ;  and  at  last  Lady  Augusta  and  Sir  Henry  were 
thoroughly  satisfied. 

Perhaps  they  were  the   only  members  of  the  party  who 
had  cause  to  be  so. 


CHAPTER    LXXVI. 

Susan  was  the  first  person  who  appeared  in  the  salon  the 
next  morning.  Helen  was  tired,  and  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  certainty  that  Lady  Augusta  would  be  late.  She  was 
in  much  better  spirits,  however,  as  Susan  informed  Claude 
when  he  joined  her ;  for  she  was  sanguine  as  to  the  effect  of 
rest  and  quiet  amusement  upon  Lady  Augusta's  mind.  As 
to  Susan's  own  spirits,  Claude  did  not,  of  course,  inquire 
about  them  ;  but  they  were  a  problem  to  him.  She  talked 
a  good  deal,  yet  rather  as  though  she  were  trying  to  keep 
down  some  thought  which  would  strive  to  be  uppermost, 
than  as  if  really  interested,  even  in  Venice.  Yet  the  palace 
of  the  Foscari  was  immediately  opposite,  and  the  waters  of 
the  Grand  Canal  were  before  her,  and  the  gondolas  passed 
backwards  and  forwards  in  front  of  the  windows,  giving  a 
view  of  that  siogular  amphibious  life  which  only  Venice  can 
offer,  and  which  it  would  seem  must  occupy  the  attention,  if 
anything  external  can.  But  no,  Susan  was  not  occupied ; 
and  Claude  heard  her  confess  to  Helen,  when  after  some 
delay  they  all  sat  down  to  breakfast,  that  she  had  passed  a 
sleepless  night. 

"  Papa  says  we  must  engage  a  gondola  to  take  us  out 
regularly,"  said  Helen.  "  I  went  into  his  room  just  now  to 
ask  him  how  he  was ;  and  he  says  he  is  so  much  better,  that 


ivoes.  2G1 

he  thinks  in  a  day  or  two  he   shall  be  able  to  take  care  of 
vis  himself." 

Claude's  countenance  fell.  He  said,  rather  drily :  "  In 
that  case,  if  Captain  Hume  should  be  in  Venice,  I  shall  be 
able  to  go  to  Milan  with  him,  as  I  at  first  intended." 

Susan's  hand  trembled  as  she  was  lifting  her  coffee  cup ; 
but  no  one  saw  it,  and  Helen  said,  quietly  :  "  We  should  be 
.sorry  to  interrupt  your  plans,  but  you  have  been  a  great  help 
to  us." 

"  A  crutch  for  Sir  Henry,"  said  Claude,  trying  to  laugh  ; 
"  but,  if  I  am  to  go  soon,  I  must  make  the  best  use  of  my 
time.  Do  you  think  you  shall  be  able  to  go  out  this  morn- 
ing ?  "  he  added,  addressing  Lady  Augusta. 

"  Perhaps,  by  and  by,  in  the  evening;  but  it  is  pleasant 
sitting  at  the  window,  and  the  heat  makes  me  ill." 

Claude  looked  very  blank.  He  had  not  exactly  calcu- 
lated before  upon  the  difficulties  of  seeing  Venice  when  both 
Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Augusta  were  invalids. 

"  Sir  John  and  Lady  Hume,"  he  said,  "  were  to  take  up 
their  quarters  at  the  Leone  Bianco,  I  believe;  the  distance 
is  not  very  great,  I  could  go  to  them  this  morning,  and  if 
you  did  not  dislike  the  idea  of  seeing  them,  they  might  be 
useful  to  Helen,  and  " — a  slight  pause — "  Miss  Graham." 

"Mamma  won't  like  it,"  replied  Helen,  quickly;  "she 
has  not  seen  Lad}"  IJuine  for  a  long  time,  and  we  can  wait 
very  well.     Papa  will  be  better,  I  dare  say,  in  a  day  <>r  two." 

But  Claude  persisted,  and  pressed  the  question  again 
upon  Lady  Augusta,  who  seemed  annoyed,  and  said  that 
they  might  as  well  be  in  England  if  they  were  t • »  have  only 
English  people  about  them. 

"Pray,  pray  dOtt't,"  .-aid  Helen,  ill  an  undertime;  but 
Lady  Augusta  heard. 

"  Why  do  you  say  don't  V  what  do  you  mean  P     I   can't 

i  mysteries.  Why  can'1  you  all  speak  out?  what  i.-  the 
l,,., it  x?" 


2G2  ivoks. 

"  Nothing,  dear  mamma ;  only  Claude  is  anxious  we 
should  go  about  and  see  everything,  and  we  are  willing  to 
wait  till  you  can  take  us,"  answered  Helen,  soothingly. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  wait  for  me,  I  can  do  very  well 
with  Annette,"  said  Lady  Augusta,  in  a  fretful  tone.  "  Peo- 
ple who  are  ill  are  always  in  the  way.  It  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  I  was  taken  out  of  it." 

Helen's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  turned  appealingly( 
to  Susan,  who  had  been  sitting  very  silent,  pretending  to  eat 
rather  than  really  eating  her  breakfast,  and  said  :  "  What 
are  we  to  do  ?  "  Susan  started  ;  her  thoughts  had  been  ab- 
sent, she  only  half  comprehended  the  question,  and  in  reply 
observed  that  she  had  letters  to  write. 

"  Then  you  had  better  go  out  by  yourself,"  continued 
Helen,  speaking  to  Claude  with  quiet  determination  of  man- 
ner ;  "  and  if  you  will  engage  a  gondola  for  us  for  the  eve- 
ning, we  shall  do  very  well,  very  well  indeed,"  she  added, 
cheerfully.  "  With  the  Palazzo  Foscari  before  us,  what  can 
we  want  more  ?  " 

She  rose  from  the  breakfast-table  as  she  spoke,  and  pro- 
posed to  Lady  Augusta  to  have  her  chair  drawn  near  the 
window.  Claude  assisted  her  in  moving  it,  whilst  Susan 
left  the  room. 

Annette  was  summoned  to  bring  Lady  Augusta's  work- 
basket,  and  attend  to  several  other  little  needs,  any  one  of 
which,  neglected,  would  have  caused  a  fit  of  ill-Lumour  ;  and 
Claude  proposed  to  go  and  see  Sir  Henry.  Yet  he  lingered 
in  the  room  still.  Helen  was  searching  in  her  portfolio  for 
some  drawing-paper,  having  a  fancy  to  sketch  some  of  the 
beautiful  bits  of  ornamental  architecture  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  canal.  He  went  up  to  her,  and  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
whether  she  was  quite  sure  they  were  right  about  Lady 
Hume. 

"  Quite  sure  we  must  do  whatever  pleases  mamma,"  re- 
plied Helen,  bending  down  over  her  drawing. 


iyors.  2G3 

''  But  your  cousin  ?      Won't  you  think  of  her  ?  "  said 
Claude,  eagerly, 

Helen's  eyes  -were  raised  for  a  moment  to  his  with  an  in- 
voluntary, but  searching,  look  of  inquiry.  As  they  sank 
again,  she  said,  "  I  did  not  remember  her.  I  will  talk  to 
mamma  again;  or,  perhaps,  if  Lady  Hume  would  call,  I 
would  see  her  if  mamma  would  not;  and  then,  if  she  were 
^oing  any  where,  Susan  might  go  with  her." 
"And  you  ?  "  said  Claude. 

"  I  can't  go  ;  it  doesu't  signify  ;  don't  think  about  me." 
Helen  moved  away,  apparently  unwilling  to  pursue  the 
conversation ;  and  Claude  went  to  Sir  Henry.  He  came 
back  again  after  some  time,  saying  that  he  was  going  out, 
and  should  engage  a  gondola  for  a  week,  and  call  at  the  post 
office  ;  perhaps,  also,  he  might  go  to  the  Leone  Bianco,  and 
see  Sir  John  and  Lady  Hume,  and  learn  if  Captain  Hume 
was  expected.  lie  said  this  intending  Lady  Augusta  to  re- 
mark upon  it ;   but  she  said  nothing,  neither  did  Helen. 

Lady  Augusta  took  her  crochet,  Helen  her  drawing,  Su- 
san her  writing-case.  They  might  have  been  at  home  as  re- 
garded their  occupations,  except  that  the  exquisite  outline 
of  Helen's  sketch  could  never  have  been  suggested  by  any 
architecture  in  England.  The  quietness  was  so  singular, 
from  the  absence  of  all  the  usual  noises  of  a  great  city,  that 
it  struck  Helen  at  last  with  a  sense  of'  the  ludicrous. 
"  Would  any  one  believe,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  three  peo- 
ple could  sit  themselves  down,  as  we  are  doing  now,  to  crochet, 
and  dull  sketching,  and  writing,  with  Wince  before  them 
unseen  ?  " 

"Necessity,"  replied  Susan,  without  raising  her  eyes; 
and  she  went  on  writing   rapidly. 

Helen  laid  down  hi  r  pencil  and  watched  her.  "Susan,  1 
envy  you ;  1  would  :ri\c  worlds  to  be  bo  quiet." 

"  Am  I  quiet ?"  replied  Susan.     She  did  look  up  dow; 


26-1  ivoKS. 

and  her  full,  dark  grey  eyes  seemed  expanded  with  some  in- 
tense feeling.  She  put  a  letter  across  the  table  to  Helen, 
and  said,  "  Head  that." 

And  Helen  read ;  and  when  she  had  finished,  she  folded 
up  the  letter  again,  and,  stealing  gently  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table,  so  as  not  to  attract  Lady  Augusta's  attention, 
bent  over  Susan,  and,  kissing  her  tenderly,  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  I  am  so  glad  if  you  are." 

"  Yes,  I  am, — I  think  so ;  but  it  is  all  strange.  I  will 
tell  you  more  by  and  by  ;  but  I  wanted  you  to  know." 

Helen  returned  to  her  drawing,  Susan  to  her  writing. 


-»-*-*- 


CHAPTER    LXXVIL 

Claude  in  the  meantime  was  gliding  down  the  Grand  Canal. 

He  engaged  a  gondola  for  the  week,  went  to  the  post 
office,  and  to  the  Leone  Bianco,  found  Lady  Hume  at  home, 
and  enlisted  her  compassion  in  behalf  of  Helen  and  Susan, 
and  persuaded  her  to  call  in  the  afternoon  and  take  them  to 
the  Piazza  and  St.  Mark's,  roused  Miss  Hume  to  enthusiasm 
on  tbe  subject  of  pictures,  and  proposed  a  plan  for  spending 
the  next  morning  at  the  Academia,  and,  in  fact,  played  so 
perfectly  the  part  of  brother  and  disinterested  friend,  that 
neither  Lady  Hume  nor  her  -daughters,  when  they  gossiped 
about  him  after  he  was  gone,  could  find  anything  in  what  he 
had  said  or  done  to  excite  any  interesting  speculation  as  to 
his  feelings,  except  that  he  had  spoken  of  Helen  as  Miss 
Clare  ;  and  so  they  supposed  he  must  still  bear  her  a  grudge 
for  having  jilted  him. 

Poor  Claude  !  he  floated  back  to  the  Imperatore,  yield- 
ing himself  to  the  luxurious  feelings  caused  by  the  delicious 


itoks.  265 

climate,  and  the  gliding  motion,  and  the  magic  beauty  of 
the  buildings,  whilst  care  was  lulled  to  rest,  and  sorrow  so 
soothed  that  it  ceased  to  be  pain;  and  hope,  gentle  and  en- 
ticing, lured  him  on  to  those  soft,  rainbow-like  visions  of  the 
future  which  we  indulge  unconscious  of  danger,  because  there 
appears  no  prospect  of  their  being  realized.  Life  in  that, 
marvellous  city  of  beauty  and  repose  appeared  so  unlike  the 
bustling  selfishness  and  the  harsh  conflict  with  opposing  wills' 
i,o  which  he  had  of  late  been  accustomed,  that  he  thought  of 
ir  as  of  a,  different  existence  ;  and  once  more  the  deep  poetry 
of  his  nature  was  awakened  within  him,- and  he  dreamed  of 
happiness. 

Yet  it  was  not  the  happiness  which  he  had  pictured  to 
himself  at  Ivors,  when  in  the  fulness  of  his'devotion  he  had 
knelt  before  Helen  Clare  and  offered  his  heart,  not  to  her, 
but  to  the  creature  of  his  own  imagination.  That  dream, 
from  which  he  had  been  so  rudely  awakened,  could  never 
return.  He  might  luve,  but  it  would  be  in  a  different  way. 
His  was  not  a  nature  to  be  deceived  twice;  and  now  the 
form  which  hovered  before  his  eyes,  though  it  had  the  out- 
ward lineaments  of  the  same  Helen,  bore  the  impress  of  a 
character,  far  different  from  that  which  he  had  then,  even 
in  his  highest  moments,  imagined. 

He  saw  her  not  as  an  angel,  but  a  woman — witli  much 
to  repent  of — much  for  which  even  he  could  attempt  no  ex- 
tenuation ;  but  conscious  of  her  faults,  struggling  against 
the  temptations,  which  beset  hei  to  yield  to  them,  with  the 
strength  which  gave  the  victory  to  the  martyr.-  of  old;  and 
bearing  with  her  wherever  she  moved  the  power  of  that  deep- 
rooted  ean  3  of  purpose  which  is  the  life  of  run 
self-denying  action,  and  without  which  aotion  is  worth) 
Lovely  she  was  Mill;  hut  it  was  a  beauty  \vhnh  angels 
might  share,  fox  it  wi  tovelinesa  of  ;i  redeemed  and 
purified  spirit;  ami  when  raid   destroy  the  freshness 


266  itoes. 

of  its  charm,  it  would  still  be  there,  seen  by  the  eye  of  God, 
and  acknowledged  by  the  reverence  of  man.  Graceful  also, 
and  winning,  she  appeared  to  him;  but  the  grace  was  ac- 
companied by  the  repose  of  humility,  and  the  winning 
brightness  of  her  smile  was  tempered  by  the  thoughtful 
sadness  of  one  who  could  never  forget  that  God  had  placed 
before  her  "  life  and  death,  blessing  and  cursing,"  and  that, 
by  the  wilfulness  of  her  own  choice,  she  had  turned  from 
life,  and  accepted  death. 

When  Claude  landed  at  the  steps  of  the  Imperatore,  the 
fevered  thought  working  in  his  brain  was, — did  the  Helen 
so  changed,  so  chastened,  look  upon  him  with  an  eye  as  dif- 
ferent from  the  fancy  of  former  days  as  that  with  which  he 
regarded  her  ? 

It  was  a  question  to  be  solved, — how,  when,  where,  he 
knew  not,  and  could  not  trust  himself  to  think. 

Annette  met  him  in  the  court-yard  :  he  had  a  letter  for 
her,  and  gave  it,  and  received,  instead  of  thanks,  complaints 
that  she  had  not  had  it  before.  She  tried  to  prevent  him 
from  going  in:  Lady  Augusta,  she  said,  was  resting  on  the 
sofa  in  the  salon  ;  and  it  would  be  better  not  to  interrupt 
her.  Dinner  had  been  ordered  at  two  o'clock;  and  they 
were  all  going  out  in  the  gondola  afterwards.  Sir  Henry 
was  writing  in  his  room. 

There  was  no  companionship  for  Claude  ;  and  unable,  in 
the  present  state  of  his  mind,  to  bear  solitude,  he  dismissed 
his  gondola,  and  hurried  away  to  find  the  intricate  alleys 
and  narrow  lanes  in  which  the  main  business  of  "the  city  is 
conducted.  The  Venetian  world  was  seen  here  in  its  most 
crowded,  energetic  form ;  and  it  was  this  which  Claude 
needed.  The  doubt  suggested  to  his  mind  became  more  and 
more  agonising  as  he  realised  the  possibility  of  solving  it ; 
and  to  distract  his  thoughts  was  his  strong  necessity.  He 
strode  on  through  the  bustling  alleys,  forcing  himself  to  re- 


ivoks.  2G7 

mark  every  thing  strange,  stopping  before  the  small  open 
shops  without  -windows,  in  -which  men  and  women  -were  ply- 
ing their  different  trades ;  listening  to  the  unintelligible 
jargon  of  women  seated  at  stalls,  selling  fruit  and  boiling 
chestnuts ;  standing  upon  a  steep  bridge  over  some  narrow 
canal,  and  "watching  a  gondola  glide  underneath  it;  then 
pausing  before  a  church  "with  an  open  space  in  front,  and 
once  or  twice  entering  to  admire  the  gorgeous  marbles  and 
mosaics,  and  to  wonder  that  so  much  richness  should  be  lav- 
ished to  ,so  little  purpose  as  regarded  the  general  effect. 

It  was  one  o'clock  before  he  found  himself  in  the  Merce- 
ria.  There,  while  trying  to  amuse  himself  with  looking  at 
the  shops,  which  are  certainly  the  best  in  Venice,  he  recog- 
nised the  tones  of  a  voice  he  knew,  and  saw,  to  his  surprise, 
Annette  standing  at  the  entrance  of  a  Turkey  warehouse, 
and  bargaining  for  a  Turkish  dressing-crown.  She  was  talk- 
ing  eagerly;  yet  she  saw  Claude,  as  she  saw  everything  and 
every  person.  Nothing  under  any  circumstances  escaped 
her  observation. 

■•  All  !  Monsieur  Egerton.  How  did  you  come  ?  I 
thought  you  gone  home." 

"No,  Annette,  you  could  not  have  thought  that;  you 
saw  me  leave  the  hotel.  But  what  business  have  you 
here  ?  " 

"Business!  a  great  deal;  why  must  you  inquire  ?  "  and 
Annette  frowned.  "  Am  I  not  to  see  the  world  ?  Vmi  all 
so  selfish,  you  never  think  of  the  ladies' maids;  and  they 
slave,  slave,  they  nothing  but  slavi 

"  Nonsense,  Annette,"  said  Claude,  good-humoured  ly  ; 
"you  know  there  are  no  persons  in  the  world  more  thought 
of  than  ladies'  maids;  and  as  for  you,  y<"i  rule  everything." 

u  Badinage  1  folie  I    I  never  understand  Monsieur  E 
ton,  he  speaks  s<i  queer."     But  Annette's  tone  was  Boftened, 
aud  she  added,  "  Pauvre  8irHenrithe  musi    have  a  new 


2G8  Ivors. 

dressing-gown,  and  I  said  I  would  see  for  it  for  him.  Miladi 
bogged  me  to  come  out.  When  you  were  gone  she  waked 
up,  and  Miladi  Hume  called  and  took  Miss  Graham  out,  and 
Mademoiselle  stayed  with  Miladi;  and  then  Sir  John's  man 
was  in  the  courtyard,  and  he  offer  to  come  with  me  here. 
So  now,  Monsieur  Egerton,  you  understand."  And  Annette 
drew  herself  up  with  the  proud  satisfaction  of  having  cpiito 
redeemed  herself  from  any  suspicion  of  neglect  of  duty. 

"  Quite.  Annette,  quite.  Miss  Clare,  you  said,  stayed 
with  Lady  Augusta  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  Miladi  did  not  wish  it,  only  Mademoiselle 
said  that  it  would  be  well  for  me  to  get  out ;  and  Sir  Henry, 
he  like  her  to  read  to  him.  .  Mademoiselle  a  very  good 
daughter,  Monsieur  Egerton." 

Annette  nodded  oracularly,  and  returned  to  her  bargain 
with  the  master  of  the  Turkey  warehouse. 

The  natural  thing  for  Claude  to  do  was  to  leave  her;  but 
some  secret  feeling  detained  him  He  gave  his  opinion  un- 
asked about  the  pattern  of  the  dressing-gown,  and  lingered 
to  look  at  some  curious  Turkish  purses  and  bags,  and  pur- 
chased a  box  of  sweetmeats  for  an  old  friend  in  England. 
When  Annette  had  finished  her  business,  he  asked  if  she  was 
going  back. 

She  seemed  a  little  annoyed  at  the  question,  probably 
fancying  that  it  implied  some  control  over  her  movements. 
Sir  John's  man,  she  said,  would  take  very  good  care  of  her. 
She  should  be  at  home  in  time  for  Lady  Augusta's  dinner. 
It  was  hard  not  to  have  some  few  minutes  at  her  own  dispo- 
sal ;  and  it  was  so  hot,  so  hot  ! 

What  this  had  to  do  with  the  former  part  of  the  sentence 
Claude  could  not  tell ;  but  Annette  sat  down  in  the  shop, 
apparently  fatigued,  and  with  a  full  determination  not  to 
move. 

"  Well,  then,  I   shall  tell  Lady  Augusta  where  I  left 


TTORS.  269 

you,  so  that  she  need  not  be  anxious.     Have  you  any  idea 
where  Lady  Hume  was  going  to  -take  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

Annette's  eyes  flashed  with  some  sudden  thought.  For- 
getting her  exhaustion,  she  started  from  her  seat  and  seized 
Claude  by  the  arm.  "Ah!  monsieur,  monsieur!"  An  1 
she  shook  her  head  at  Lim  so  solemnly,  that  Claude  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"Very  well  to  laugh,  but  no  laughing  matter;  you  will 
know  soon  enough  ;  and  then  you  will  cry." 

"  Cry  J?  senseless  woman!"  and  Claude  shook  himself 
from  her  and  spoke  quite  fiercely;  "tell  me  at  once  what 
you  mean !  " 

"You  young  gentlemen  very  blind;  you  think  your 
ladies  angels;  but  they  not  angels  at  all.  Miss  Graham  is  a 
fianc'e  ;  she  engaged  to  be  married,  as  you  call  it." 

Annette  fixed  her  eyes  upon  Claude  whilst  she  spoke, 
with  the  triumphant  feeling  of  having  him  in  her  power  and 
giving  him  a  severe  blow,  and  yet  with  womanly  compa 
at  the  pain  which  she  felt  she  was  inflicting.  But,  to  her 
surprise,  Claude  bore  the  stroke  without  shrinking.  His 
fa.ce,  indeed,  was  inexplicable;  it  expressed  something  very 
nearly  akin  to  satisfaction  as  he  said,  lightly,  "Why,  An- 
nette, where  did  you  pick  up  that  gossip  ?  " 

••  Vou  not  believe  it?  but  it  is  true.  Do  you  see  this 
letter?"  And  she  drew  forth  the  letter  which  she  had  that 
morning  received.  "It  is  from  Wingfield,  from  a  very  dear 
friend:  her  sister  lives  with  Mrs.  Graham;  so  yon  sec  there 
can  be  no  doubt.     Look!"     She  pointed  to  a  "It 

.  '  Miss  Graham  i-  to  be  married  quite  .-non,  but  you  are 
not  to  tell  any  one,  for  my  sister  would  be  very  angrj  if  sin- 
knew  I  had  mentioned  it ;  and  she  will  not  say  the  gentle- 
man's Dame,  btit  1  shall  certainly  lind  nut.'  Who  can  doubt 
that?"   added  Annette,  in  a  tone   oi  ding  irritation, 

ed  evidently  by  finding  thai  Claude  persisted  in  appear* 
i  1 1  Lr  un  m  o  v  (  I . 


270  ivoks. 

"  "Who  wishes  to  doubt  it  ?  "  he  said,  carelessly.  "  But, 
Annette,  I  advise  you  the  next  time  that  you  have  a  secret 
committed  to  you,  to  be  more  careful  how  you  betray  it." 

"  Betray  !  I  betray  !  I  scorn  it !  "  exclaimed  Aunette, 
her  face  becoming  fiery  with  indignation.  "  But  I  say  what 
I  say  to  put  young  gentlemen  on  their  guard.  Miss  Graham 
look  very  good,  and  keep  up  in  a  corner,  and  she  never  say 
nothing  to  no  one ;  but  she  very  deep." 

"  Possibly,"  said  Claude,  haughtily.  "  I  have  no  wish 
to  discuss  Miss  Graham.  I  advise  you,  Annette,  to  finish 
your  commissions  quickly,  or  you  will  not  be  at  the  hotel  in 
time  for  Lady  Augusta's  dinner." 

lie  walked  away,  and  Annette  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
shop,  watching  him  as  he  made  his  way  through  the  narrow 
street  of  the  Merceria  and  passed  under  the  brilliantly 
painted  clock  tower  into  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark;  and  then 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  the  usual  exclamation — 
"Ah/  quHl  est  sot !  " — returned  to  complete  her  bargain 
with  the  Turkey  merchant. 

Claude  wandered  through  the  Piazza  without  in  the  least 
understanding  its  beauty.  The  delicate  tracery  of  the  ar- 
cades, the  symmetry  of  the  tall  Campanile,  even  the  gor- 
geous richness  of  the  exterior  of  St.  Mark's,  glittering  with 
gold,  marbles,  and  mosaics,  were  lost  upon  him.  His  eye, 
indeed,  rested  upon  the  outward  forms  of  the  buildings ;  but 
his  attention  was  entirely  withdrawn  from  them,  it  was  im- 
possible to  study  them.  He  held  a  guide  book  in  his  hand, 
and  read  all  that  could  be  said  of  the  history  of  the  glorious 
cathedral,  and  looked,  as  he  was  told  to  do,  at  the  gilt  bronze 
horses,  and  the  glittering  gates,  and  the  three  pedestals  from 
which  rise  the  masts  that  once  supported  the  banners  of  the 
republic;  but  it  was  all  mechanical.  Every  figure  which 
passed  him  suggested  some  thought  of  Helen ;  and  every 
beauty  which  met  his  eye  brought  the  longing  that  she  could 


ivors.  271 

be  at  liis  side  to  admire  it;  and  when  the  recollection  of 
Susan,  and  of  Annette's  intelligence,  fully  confirmed  by  the 
observations  he  had  himself  made  upon  her  agitation  when 
receiving  her  letteis,  crossed  his  mind  ;  it  was  with  the 
thought  of  relief,  that  now  he  might  be  free,  as  he  had  once 
been,  without  any  fear  of  exciting  remark.  lie  scarcely 
had  understood  till  then  the  annoyance  which  Annette's  im- 
pertinent hints  had  been  to  him,  or  the  check  they  had  con- 
tinually placed  upon  his  freedom  of  feeling  and  action.  But 
all  that  w^is  over.  Susan  had  been  his  friend  always,  she 
would  be  so  now  more  than  ever.  Unselfish  and  sympathis- 
ing, she  would  never  allow  her  own  happiness  to  interfere 
with  her  feeling  for  others;  and  he  might  talk  to  her,  and 
might  learn  from  her  everything  which  he  wished  to  know. 
Perhaps,  even,  he  might  so  far  enlist  her  on  his  side,  as  to 
induce  her  to  say  something  which  would  have  the  effect  of 
sounding  Helen's  feelings,  and  save  him  the  misery  and  hu- 
miliation of  a  second  refusal.  He  looked  upon  her  as  his 
guardian  angel.  He  felt  so  sure  of  her  affection  for  Helen, 
and  her  entire  comprehension  of  himself,  that  at  the  moment 
he  could  have  gone  to  her  to  acknowledge  his  every 
thought,  and  entreat  her  aid  and  counsel.  Trust, — thai  was 
the  one  feeling  which  had  for  years  been  uppermost  in  his 
mind  whenever  he  thought  of  Susan;  and  now,  in  the  ex- 
citement, ami  distrust,  and  despondency  of  heart  caused 
by  the  bitter  remembrances  of  the  past,  it  was  increased  ten- 
fold. Claude  found  his  way  to  the  1'iazzetta.  threw  himself 
into  a  gondola,  and  gave  the  direction  I"  the  [raperatore, 
and  again,  under  the  tranquillising  influence  of  the  smooth 
motion,  grew  calm,  thankful,  and  hopeful. 


272  iyoks. 


CHAPTER   LXXVIII. 

Susan's  letter  had  occupied  her  till  she  was  disturbed  by 
Lady  Hume's  visit.  It  might  have  occupied  her  still  longer 
if  she  had  said  all  that  it  was  iu  her  heart  to  say ;  but  it 
was  hastily  closed  and  given  to  Sir  John,  after  a  strict  pro- 
mise that  he  himself  would  put  it  into  the  post.  It  was  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Mv  dearest  Mother, 

"  We  are  at  Venice.  I  can't  tell  you  more  than 
that;  for  I  have  just  had  your  letter,  and  can  think  of  noth- 
ing else.  I  can  scarcely  say  how  I  feel,  it  is  all  so  sudden 
and  startling ;  but  if  you  are  satisfied,  I  must  be.  Tell  my 
darling  Isabella  that  if  I  had  wings,  I  would  leave  Venice 
unseen  only  to  have  the  pleasure  of  kissing  her,  and  telling 
her  how  I  long  for  her  to  be  happy.  I  always  thought  Mr. 
George  Berry  liked  her  ;  but  then  I  thought  too  that  he 
liked  all  of  us,  and  I  confess  that  I  had  not  the  most  remote 
idea  of  anything  serious.  It  must  all  have  been  managed 
sinee  I  left  home,  which  appears  an  incredibly  short  space 
of  time  to  have  got  up  such  an  affair,  as  people  say.  You 
know  my  notion  has  always  been  that  it  would  require  to 
know  a  person  for  years  before  one  could  have  a  feeling  ap- 
proaching to  love ;  but  Isabella  was  always  different  from 
me,  so  I  can't  possibly  judge ;  and  I  do  think,  truly  and 
honestly,  that  she  will  be  infinitely  more  happy  married  than 
she  ever  could  have  been  unmarried.  My  dearest  mother,  I 
am  sure  this  is  not  exuberant,  as  it  ought  to  be  ;  Helen  would 
tell  me  that  I  am  dreadfully  cold  ;  but  I  can  say  anything 
to  you,  and  you  will  understand.  I  am  so  afraid  of  Bella's 
moods.     I  will  tell  you  now  what  I  never  quite  liked  to  tell 


ivors.  273 

you  before,  because  it  was  only  worrying  and  did  no  good. 
They  have  been  the  great  drawback  to  all  my  happiness ; 
they  have  given  me  a  feeling  of  insecurity,  of  walking  upon 
quicksands,  even  when  I  had  you,  my  own,  precious  mother 
to  fall  back  upon  ;  and  I  am  so  afraid  it  may  be  the  same 
now.  I  don't  fancy  that  a  man  can  understand  and  bear 
with  such  a  temperament  as  a  woman  can  ;  and  I  seem  to 
wish  so  very  much  to  know  more  of  Mr.  Berry.  You  say 
he  is  religious,  and  upright,  and  honourable  ;  but  I  can't 
help  fancying  that  underneath  all  your  expressions  of  satis- 
faction, there  is  a  slight  misgiving.  Do  you  think  he  knows 
Isabella  ?  Does  he  see  her  truly  ?  I  wish  I  could  talk  to 
him  about  her;  I  feel  I  could  put  him  in  'lie  way  of  manag- 
ing her.  Then,  airain,  I  feel  that  to  be  obliged  to  manage  a 
wife  must  be  so  trying.  Do  you  remember  the  French  say- 
ing, '  on  n 'a  jamais  de  V enthousiame pour  ce  qu'on  menage  ?  ' 
Since  you  showed  it  me  it  has  always  been  in  my  mind  when 
thinking  of  dear  Isabella,  and  the  possibility  of  her  being 
married.  But  on  the  other  hand,  she  will  be  so  devoted  and 
earnest  in  her  duties,  it  must  come  right.  My  own  mother, 
please  write  to  me  and  tell  me  that  you  are  sure  of  it.  I 
long  so  inexpressibly  for  your  word  ;  nothing  else:  will  satisfy 
me,  and  my  head  grows  quite  dizzy  with  thought.  More 
and  more  I  feel  that,  if  I  c^uld  see  Bella  and  Anna  happy, 
and  Charlie  doing  well,  I  could  bear  anything  which  might 
come  to  myself.  That  sounds  very  melancholy,  as  if  I  were 
not  enjoying  myself  j  but  I  am,  mure  than  I  e.in  always  un- 
derstand or  express.  It  is  a  new  life  here;  nothing  seems 
real  to  me.  Perhaps  it  may  be  tin'  effect  of  these  watery 
streets,   the  of    instability,  which   living  on  the  sea 

gives;  but  even  before  we  arrived  here,  I  had  a  strange  dif 
iieultv  in  realising  my  own  happiness, — the  Bensation  of 
walking   in   a  dream.      I.    have    actually  fell    mj   pulse,  <<>    !/'• 

quite  sure  that  I  was  a  living,  substantial  being;  and  now  J 


271  ivoes. 

look  at  the  houses  opposite,  and  could  fancy  that  tney  would 
vanish  before  my  eyes.  But  it  is  all  bright,  warm,  exhila- 
rating ; — perfect,  when  I  don't  think ;  and  I  am  learning  to 
give  up  thought.  "Whom  could  I  say  this  to  except  you, 
who  know  every  feeling  that  rises  in  my  heart,  and  can  in- 
terpret my  wordsexactly  according  to  their  true  meaning  ? 

"  I  shall  write  again  in  a  very  few  days.  "We  are  at  the 
Imperatore,  just  opposite  the  Foscari  Palace.  I  have  seen 
nothing  yet,  except  the  view  from  the  windows,  and  the 
glimpses  of  the  city  last  night,  when  we  entered  late.  It 
was  all  exquisite.  One  feeling  I  have  this  morning  akin  to 
disappointment.  The  houses  look  poverty-stricken ;  I  was 
not  prepared  for  that;  but  I  can't  judge  till  I  have  seen 
more.  Lady  Hume,  who  is  here,  has  just  called,  and  offered 
to  take  me  out.  Lady  Augusta  is  better,  in  a  way  ;  I  am 
not  sanguine  about  any  permanent  amendment.  Poor  Helen 
flatters  herself  that  things  will  be  better  now  we  are  at  rest; 
we  have  had  many  trials  on  the  journey,  which  I  must  wait 
till  we  meet  to  tell  you.  Mr.  Egerton  is  here  with  us ;  he 
joined  us  at  Conegliano  (where  Sir  Henry  met  with  an  acci- 
dent, not  very  serious,  but  very  inconvenient ;  he  hurt  his 
foot  by  slipping  down  some  steps) ;  and  being  helpless,  Mr. 
Egerton  offered  to  come  with  us,  and  take  care  of  us.  He 
is  the  greatest  possible  comfort  to  Sir  Henry.  I  don't  know 
how  long  he  stays.  I  have  so  very  much  to  say,  this  all 
seems  nothing.  I  can't  give  descriptions,  and  perhaps  you 
would  not  care  to  have  them ;  and  Isabella  will  be  too  happy 
to  think  of  them ;  and  Anna  must  learn  patience,  and  she 
shall  hear  everything  when  we  meet.  WTould  you  believe  it, 
that  even  now,  at  Venice,  I  long  for  that  more  than  for  any- 
thing ?  It  must  be  that  I  am  growing  old  that  I  can't  throw 
myself  into  enjoyment  as  I  used  to  do.  One  thing  always 
sad  to  me  is  Helen.  She  is  so  blighted  and  crushed ;  and  I 
can  scarcely  tell  why  she  should  be,  except  that  she  has  ex- 


iyors.  275 

liausted  so  much  excitement  in  such  a  short  time.  "Wo 
scarcely  ever  talk  of  the  past ;  I  have  seen  her  shudder  at 
Captain  Mordauut's  name,  and  Madame  Reinhard  is  a  for- 
bidden topic  by  tacit  consent.  I  suppose  the  farther  one 
travels  from  a  great  danger  the  more  frightful  it  appears. 
But  Helen,  I  am  sure,  is  entirely  in  earnest  now,  though  she 
will  scarcely  acknowledge  it;  I  think  she  would  feel  more 
confidence  in  herself  if  she  had  fewer  cares  for  Lady  Augusta. 
She  is  one  of  those  persons  who,  I  always  fancy,  require  a 
southern  plimate,  moral  and  mental,  to  enable  them  to  bring 
the  good  that  is  in  them  to  perfection.  This  she  certainly 
has  not  now. 

"  But  this  is  very  presumptuous  in  me ;  and  I  have  kept 
Lady  Hume  waiting,  and  can  only  send  ten  thousand  loves 
to  you  all.  My  own  precious  mother,  when  I  am  writing  to 
you  I  always  long  for  a  new  vocabulary  of  affection. 

"  Your  ever  loving  and  grateful  child, 

"S.  G." 

Venice  is  known  by  almost  every  one  either  by  experience 
or  descripti.m.  The  glories  of  Ht.  Mark's  have  been  pour- 
trayed,  the  impressive  gloom  of  its  red  marble  walls,  the 
brightness  of  its  golden  mosaics,  the  antiquity  of  its  worn, 
■Hated  pavement.  The  Doge's  Palace  has  been  sketched, 
and  painted,  and  engraved,  and  every  line  of  its  wonderful 
architecture  brought  clearly  into  view,  and  the  impression 
of  surpassing  beauty  which  it  gives  carefully  analysed. 
History  and  poetry  have  joined  band  in  hand  to  throw  a 
charm  over  the  minutest  details  of  the  humblest  Venetian 
building,  and  to  give  romance  to  the  mosl  ordinal y  objects 
of  daily  life;  things  which  in  other  cities  would  be  pa 
by  unnoticed  are  in  Venia  i  crated  by  association  with 
all  that  is  awful,  mysterious,  and  exciting.  And  so  i1  is  that 
life  i„  Venice,  although  made  up  of  the  same  homely  mate- 


276  itors. 

rials  -which  arc  requisite  for  existence  in  other  places,  must 
always  stand  out  apart,  as  something  which  can  never  be  en- 
joyed elsewhere.  The  events  which  occur  to  us  may  be  the 
same ;  but  the  feelings  which  they  awaken  must  always  be 
different. 

Lady  Hume,  the  most  matter-of-fact  of  old  ladies,  took 
upon  herself,  most  kindly  and  willingly,  the  office  of  chape- 
rone.  Her  gondola  was  daily  seen  at  the  stairs  before  the 
courtyard  of  the  Imperatore  ;  and  daily  were  parties  formed 
for  the  Academia,  or  St.  Mark's,  or  the  Piazza,  or  the  Palace, 
or  perhaps  for  a  visit  to  Murano  or  Torcello,  or  to  some  of 
the  splendid  but  disappointing  churches  with  which  Venice 
abounds.  It  was  a  perpetual  course  of  sight-seeing;  and 
nothing  becomes,  in  general,  more  wearisome  after  a  time. 
Eut  there  is  a  charm  in  Venice  independent  of  its  sights — a 
luxury  in  the  mere  feeling  of  existence,  a  new  and  ever-pres- 
ent loveliness  in  the  soft,  watery  colouring,  and  the  rich, 
intricate,  misty  lines  of  the  buildings  which  pass  before  the 
eye ;  and  day  after  day  as  Susan  Graham  glided  along  the 
Grand  Canal,  with  Claude  seated  beside  her,  the  feeling  of 
deep,  hidden  delight  increased.  He  was  her  constant  com- 
panion now.  It  seemed  quite  natural  that  he  should  be  the 
person  to  hand  her  into  the  gondola,  and  find  a  place  next 
her.  Sir  John  Hume  took  care  of  Helen,  and  Miss  Hume 
and  her  sister  engaged  her  in  conversation ;  and  if,  as  was 
often  the  case,  the  party  was  too  large  to  be  together,  Sir 
John,  as  a  matter  of  course,  insisted  that  Helen  should 
come  with  him,  and  left  Claude  in  charge  of  the  rest.  It 
was  a  very  natural  arrangement,  a  kind  feeling  on  the  part 
of  Lady  Hume,  that  Claude  and  Helen  might,  under  the 
circumstances,  feel  more  at  their  ease  when  separate;  and 
Claude,  as  it  appeared,  had  no  wish  to  alter  it. 

When  with  Susan,  his  whole  tone  and  manner   was  that 
of  being  quite  at  rest  with  one  who  thoroughly  understood 


itors.  277 

him.  It  was  not  that  they  always  talked  much  together ;  at 
times  they  would  sit  so  long  silent  as  to  awaken  obser- 
vation ;  but  whatever  was  said  showed  that  quick,  sympathis- 
ing appreciation  of  each  other's  tastes  which  binds  heart 
with  heart  more  firmly  far  than  words. 

And  on  one  subject  Susau  thought  that  she  entirely  com- 
prehended Claude.  They  of  en  spoke  of  Helen  ;  and  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  her  to  be  able  to  do  so.  It  put  her  more  at 
ease  with  him  than  anything  else  could;  for  it  showed  that 
even  upon-the  point  on  which  he  had  felt  and  suffered  most 
keenly,  he  could  open  his  mind  to  her.  Claude,  indeed,  never 
referred  directly  to  past  events;  but  he  talked  much  and 
freely  of  all  that  had  occurred  in  London  ;  he  inquired 
minutely  into  the  extent  of  Madame  Reinhard's  influence, 
and  Helen's  present  feelings  respecting  her.  He  even  went 
so  far  as  to  beg  Susan  to  communicate  to  Helen  «diiic  pain- 
ful facts  which  had  reached  him,  as  to  Madame  Reinhard's 
domestic  life,  her  open  neglect  of  her  husband,  and  the 
alienation  between  them,  which  was  now  so  public  as  to 
cau^e  her  to  be  shunned  by  many  persons  who  had  before 
admitted  her  to  their  society.  She  was,  he  said,  fast  sinking 
to  the  level  of  the  Baroness  d'Olban ;  her  principles  were 
working  out  their  fatal  effect;  and  even  if  Helen  had  never 
openly  separated  from  her,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
keep  up  the  acquaintance.  He  told  all  this  with  what  might 
have  been  the  kind,  protecting  interest  of  a  brother,  denrous 
to  know  what  effect  the  baneful  influence  exercised  upon 
Helen's  mind  had  produced.  And  Susan  replied  to  him 
with  equal  simplicity-ana"  openness.  In  her  anxiety  to  make 
him  do  justice  to  her  cousin,  she  d<  cribed  to  bim  the  inter- 
view in  which  Eel  es  were  firs!  opened  to  Madame 
Reinhard's  conduct,  and  dwelt  niueh  apon  the  few  words  in 
which  she  had  since  expressed  Iht  unutterable  thankful) 
for  having  been  Baved  from  a  marriage  which  musl  have  I 


278  ivoiis. 

utterly  fatal  to  her  happiness.  "  Helen,"  she  said,  "  looked 
back  upon  that  time  with  a  feeling  far  deeper  than  regret. 
It  was  a  deep  sincere  repentance,  too  sacred  to  be  alluded 
to,  but  which  was  never  absent  from  her  mind;  and  any  per- 
son watching  her  daily  life  would  see  how  the  remembrance 
worked  upon  her."  And  then  Susan  went  on  to  give  little 
details  of  Helen's  thoughtfulness  and  nobleness,  the  unself- 
ishness which  was  apart  of  her  natural  character,  but  which 
had  been  hidden  by  worldly  follies ;  and  at  length  she  touched 
upon  religion,  and  her  countenance  lighted  up,  and  became 
almost  beautiful,  as  she  spoke  of  the  quiet,  unseen  growth 
of  feelings  which  Helen  in  her  humility  was  almost  afraid 
to  acknowledge,  but  which  were  evinced  by  every  action,  and 
every  expression  of  taste  or  feeling.  Some  months  before, 
Susan  might  have  felt  it  an  effort  to  say  all  this  ;  she  might 
have  remembered  that  Helen  had  once  been  very  dear  to 
Claude;  and  a  secret  jealousy  might  have  chilled  her  tones, 
and  arrested  the  eager  flow  of  her  words.  But  that  time 
was  separated  from  the  present  as  by  a  vast  gulf.  They  were 
in  Venice,  living  a  new  life  amid  new  scenes,  beneath  the 
power  of  a  new  atmosphere ;  and  as  the  gondola  floated  along 
on  its  silent  way,  Susan  looked  at  the  past  as  she  did  upon 
the  aerial  outlines  which  rose  up  before  her,  and  it  became 
unreal  and  awoke  neither  hope  nor  fear,  and  she  felt  only 
that  Claude  had  but  one  thought,  one  wish  for  her. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  week  of  their  stay  in  Venice, 
Susan  spoke  no  longer  in  her  letters  of  the  feeling  of  insecu- 
rity, and  the  longing  for  home.  The  single  drop  of  sadness 
in  the  fulness  of  her  happiness  was  the  recollection  that  they 
must  separate. 

And  was  every  one  else  blinded  ?  Did  Venice,  and  its 
loveliness,  and  its  associations  so  engross  all  attention  that 
there  was  no  thought  for  the  living  romance  passing  before 
the  eye  ?     Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Augusta  for  the  most  part 


ivors.  £79 

stayed  at  home ;  or  if,  as  happened  at  last  when  Sir  Henry's 
lameness  decreased,  they  sometimes  joined  the  rest  of  the 
party,  Claude  was  always  bestowing  his  time  and  attention 
upon  their  comfort.  Lady  Hume  did  not  understand  love 
without  the  laughing,  and  talking,  and  badinage  of  flirtation ; 
and  the  Miss  Humes  supposed  that,  because  Claude  and 
Susan  were  content  to  sit  together  sometimes  for  half  an  hour 
at  a  time  without  speaking,  they  considered  each  other  dull 
companions.  But  there  was  one  who  saw  all,  and  thought 
she  understood  all,  and,  with  the  firm  energy  of  a  heart 
which  has  voluntarily  cast  away  a  treasure  that  might  have 
been  its  own,  and  knows  that  from  henceforth  it  must  be 
content  to  live  without  it,  stifled  every  pang  of  regret  which 
would  have  risen  up  to  mar  its  peace,  and  soberly  and  thank- 
fully accepted  the  contentment  which  was  brought  to  it  by 
the  sight  of  another's  joy. 

One  great  and  lingering  grief  to  Helen  had  been  the 
knowledge  that  she  had  rendered  Claude  miserable.  She 
believed  now  that  he  was  on  the  way  to  happiness  ;  and 
her  heart  beat  more  lightly  as  she  watched  him  talking  to 
Suscn,  or  heard  him  appeal  to  her  on  some  question  of  taste, 
with  the  confident  tone  which  showed  that  they  were  entirely 
of  one  mind.  It  seemed  as  though  she  were,  in  some  deg 
making  amends  to  him  fur  her  former  conduct,  by  further- 
ing his  wishes  now:    and  it  was  often  bv  her  delicately-man- 

O  '  w  w 

aged  contrivance  that  ( llaude  found  himself  left  to  take 
care  of  Susan  in  walking,  as  well  as  placed  by  her  side  in 
the  gondola. 

Poor  Helen  could  live  now  only  in  self-sacrifice.  It  was 
a  rest  to  her  conscience, — the  living  evidence  which  she  re- 
quired to  prove  to  herself  thai  she  was  not  utterly  hearth 
for  when  our  faith  in  ourselves  has  once  been  thoroughly 
shaken,  it  requires  a  long,  long  time  torestoreit.  We  can- 
not trust  our  own  hearts  as  others  trust  them;  and  much  of 


2S0  ivoes. 


the  comfort  of  the  self-imposed  penances  so  often  abused  may 
probably  be  found,  not  in  the  hope  of  atoning  for  what  has 
been  wrong  in  the  past,  but  simply  in  giving  us  confidence 
for  the  present. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

It  was  a  deliciously  warm  morning,  yet  in  no  way  over- 
powering, so  as  to  render  going  out  impossible  ;  and  it  was 
very  early,  not  later  than  seven.  Helen  and  Susan  were  in 
a  gondola,  with  Lady  Hume's  elderly  German  Abigail  to  act 
as  chaperone.  Annette  could  not  be  spared  ;  and  Helen 
was  bent  upon  making  a  sketch  of  a  very  beautiful  bit  of  the 
Dole's  palace,  as  seen  from  one  of  the  entrances  to  St. 
Mark's,  and  could  only  hope  to  do  so  by  taking  advantage  of 
the  comparatively  quiet  morning  hours.  Drawing  was  her 
constant  employment  and  interest  now  ;  and  perhaps  none 
but  Susan  could  appreciate  the  amount  of  self-control  and 
power  of  will  exercised  in  thus  forcing  herself  into  an  occu- 
pation which  had  no  definite  aim  nor  external  stimulus.  In 
bygone  days,  Helen's  drawing  moods  had  been  as  variable  as 
her  temper,  and  she  had  believed  that  it  was  as  impossible 
to  control  the  one  as  the  other  ;  but  she  was  learning  by 
degrees  that  God  intends  us  to  discipline  our  minds  by  our 
tastes  and  inclinations  as  well  as  by  our  faults.  The  love  of 
freedom,  which  had  once  been  her  temptation,  was  now  be- 
coming her  great  safeguard.  Helen  had  known  what  it  was 
to  be  her  own  slave ;  and  now  her  whole  heart  was  bent  upon 
asserting  that  blessed  freedom  of  will  which,  through  God's 
grace,  keeps  in  check  even  the  passing  humours  and  fancies 
to  which  so  many,  really  in  earnest  in  great  matters,  yield 


ivoks.  281 

■without  repentance,  and  scarcely  with  regret.  Iu  Susan's 
eyes,  she  was  more  to  be  respected  in  the  ceaseless  watch 
kept  over  petty  temptations  to  indolence,  self-indulgence,  and 
ehangeableness,  than  even  in  her  untiring  devotion  to  Lady 
Augusta,  and  the  unselfish  consideration  which  put  every  one 
before  herself.  Claude,  Susan  thought,  could  not  see  these 
temptations;  audit  was  difficult  to  point  them  out  to  him 
without  asserting  a  certain  amount  of  superiority,  as  tin  High 
she  never  gave  way  to  them  herself.  But  she  did  sometimes, 
laughingly,  draw  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  Helen  was 
the  only  person  of  the  party  who  could  never  afford  to  have 
an  idle  minute;  and  Claude,  in  his  grave,  abstracted  way, 
would  listen  to  what  she  said,  and  watch  Helen  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  perhaps  even  go  up  to  the  table  at  which 
she  was  drawing,  and  make  some  remark  upon  her  sketch ; 
but  there  was  no  excitement  or  eagerness  in  his  manner.  It 
was  evidently  a  greater  effort  to  speak  to  Helen  than  to  talk 
even  to  Miss  Hume  ;  and  so  the  drawing  went  on,  no  one 
particularly  appearing  to  care  for  it  except  Sir  Henry;  and 
his  was  more  a  father's  pride  in  his  child's  talent,  than  the 
discriminating  approbation  of  a  person  who  really  understood 
its  worth. 

"I  shall  finish  my  Bketch  this  morning,  I  hope,"  said 
Helen,  as  she  sat  down  by  her  cousin,  and  the  gondola  was 
pushed  off  from  the  steps;  "and  then  you  and  pool-  L 
may  have  a  little  longer  rest  in  the  morning.  It  makes  me 
quite  ashamed  of  myself  to  bring  you  out  in  this  way,  only 
that  it  is  so  intensely  del;. 

"Every  hour  in  Venice  is  a  memory,"  said  Susan  ;  "  one 
would  he  ashamed  of  missing  more  than  one  i-  actually 
obliged.  Just  look,  now,  at  thai  mil  exquisite  bit  of  bal- 
cony, at  the  very  top    of  the    pala< pposite,  and  the  dingy 

old  woman  looking  over  it.     All  the  Venetian  history  one 

could  ever  read  would  not  realise  the  ;  90  much  as 

20 


2S2  IYOKS. 

that.  I  can  notice  these  things,  and  think  upon  them  when 
I  am  alone  with  you,  in  these  quiet  mornings ;  but  I  don't 
know  how  it  is,  I  do  nothing  but  dream  when  we  are  all 
together." 

"Do  you  dream?"  said  Helen;  and  she  sighed.  "I 
wish  I  could  ;  but  dreaming  is  over  for  me." 

Susan  took  her  hand  affectionately.  "  Helen,  dearest,  I 
can't  preach  ;  and  it  seems  often  as  if  I  had  no  right  to  show 
sympathy :  can  you  understand  that  ?  Just  now,  every- 
thing is  so  bright  to  me." 

Helen  looked  at  her  very  earnestly.  "  When  you  are 
happy,  Susan,"  she  said,  "  you  will  never  be  selfish,  as  others 
are.     When  I  was  happy,  I  forgot  every  one  but  myself." 

It  seemed  as  if  Susan  would  not  trust  herself  to  under- 
stand what  might  be  in  her  cousin's  thoughts.  She  turned 
from  the  personal  allusion,  and  spoke  of  her  sister.  "  I  had 
another  letter  from  mamma  yesterday,"  she  said  ;  "  and  it 
has  taken  a  great  load  off  my  mind.  I  feel  sure  that  what  1 
always  hoped  will  really  be  the  case.  Isabella  has  no  moods 
and  fancies  now,  mamma  says.  Everything  is  too  real  and 
important  to  admit  of  them." 

"  Because  she  loves,"  said  Helen,  thoughtfully.  "  Yes, 
that  must  make  everything  real !  the  little  things  must  be  so 
swallowed  up  in  the  great  feeling." 

"  Mamma  is  not  quite  so  sanguine  as  I  am,"  continued 
Susan.  "  She  tells  me  that  she  is  perfectly  satisfied  for  the 
present,  and  trusts  to  God  for.  the  future  ;  but  her  theory  is, 
that  when  the  excitement  of  feeling  goes  off,  all  the  old 
faults  will  revive.  One  thing,  however,  I  am  quite  sure  of, 
that  Isabella  will  be  much  better,  even  if  she  should  not  be 
much  happier,  married  than  unmarried." 

"  It  must,  I  suppose,  require  strength  of  mind  to  be 
thoroughly  good,  and  contented,  and  happy,  unmarried,"  said 
Helen  ,  "  to  be  quite  satisfied  to  go  through  the  world  alone." 


itoes.  2  S3 

Susan  made  no  reply. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  continued  Helen. 

Susan's  face  was  flushed  with  eagerness,  and  then  pale 
with  some  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  as  she  answered,  "  I 
don't  know ;  I  thought  I  could  be  so  once." 

"  I  am  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  and  to  train  myself 
for  it,"  said  Helen,  more  lightly.  "  One  thing  I  have  re- 
solved upon ;  I  will  never  be  a  useless,  idle,  gossiping  old 
maid.  I  am  not  quite  sure,  though,  as  to  being  a  useful 
aunt.  I  have  rather  a  horror  of  that :  but  I  don't  make 
vows  upon  the  subject ;  for  if  I  do,  I  shall  infallibly  break 
them.  Maurice  must  promise,  however,  to  marry  a  person 
whom  I  approve." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  be  happy  in  merely  being  any 
one  thing,"  said  Susan.  "  I  mean  I  should  like  to  look  upon 
my  condition,  whatever  it  may  be,  on  all  sides,  and  so  un- 
brace it  fully  and  heartily.  I  used  to  fancy  that  I  never 
could  be  satisfied,  unless  I  regarded  old  maidism,  in  a  cer- 
tain way,  as  a  profession  ;  but  I  may  be  wrong ;  I  can't  say.1' 
And  she  bent  over  the  .side  of  the  gondola,  dipping  her  para- 
Bol  in  the  water. 

Helen  sat  in  thought  fur  some  seconds;  then  she  said, 
gravely,  "  I  should  like  to  be  taught  by  you,  Susan.  STou 
would  have  made  a  better  old  maid  than  I  shall  ever  be." 

"God  places  us  where  it  is  best,"  said  Susan,  without 
raising  herself  up ;  "so,  Helen  dear,  if  we  are  t"  be  old 
maids,  I  suppose  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  tin-  right 
state  fir  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Helen;  '■  but  some  endure  their  condition; 
others,  as  you  say,  accept  it,  and  male-  use  of  it;  that  in 
what  I  should  wish  to  do,  but  what  1   I  hall  '1"."' 

u  You  don't  know  yourself,"  said  Susan,  hastily.     The 
tone  of  her  roiee  betrayed  thai  the  Bubjecl  was  painful. 
"  Do  we  land  b  re,  1  i  lie   ?  "  sai  1  Louise,  p  ibtii  g  to  the 


284  ivobs. 

Piazzetta,  and  bending  forward  from  the  back  seat  wliere  she 
had  been  attentively  studying  the  book  which  on  these  morn- 
ing excursions  she  always  carried  with  her. 

"  No,  not  here.  On  a  little  farther — till  we  wish  to 
turn,"  exclaimed  Helen  to  the  gondoliers  ;  and  the  slender 
boat  glided  on  its  course  again,  and  Helen,  addressing  Su- 
san, said,  "  the  drawing  will  wait;  it  is  too  delicious  to  land." 

Susan  neither  acquiesced  nor  objected ;  she  seemed  lost 
in  thought. 

Helen  glanced  beneath  her  cousin's  bonnet,  as  her  head 
was  partly  turned  aside,  and  saw  the  working  of  some  secret, 
intense  feeling,  which  even  Susan's  wonderful  powers  of  self- 
command  were  unable  thoroughly  to  subdue. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  you  are  thinking  of  ?  "  she 
said,  in  a  low  and  gentle  voice ;  "  can  I  help  you  ?  " 

Susan  paused,  then  answered,  calmly,  "  I  was  thinking 
of  the  difference  between  what  we  imagine  we  can  do  at  one 
time,  and  what  we  feel  we  can  do  at  another.  I  have  had 
fancies  about  an  unmarried  life  ;  but  they  are  only  fancies,  I 
hate  myself  for  them." 

"  Nay,  why  hate  yourself  ?  "  exclaimed  Helen  ; — "  if  they 
were  good, ■  " 

"  They  were  unreal,  self-deceiving." 

"  For  you,  possibly,"  said  Helen ;  "  because  you  may 
have  a  different  lot  appointed  you ;  but  they  may  help  oth- 
ers ;  they  may  be  useful  to  me." 

Susan  smiled  faintly.  "  I  thought  they  would  be  useful 
to  myself,"  she  said.  "  It  was  the  prophecy  about  me  from 
childhood,  that  I  should  be  an  old  maid.  I  remember  one 
of  the  servants  telling  me  so  in  the  nursery,  because  I  was 
so  particular  in  putting  away  all  my  playthings  in  the  same 
order.  People  don't  know  how  those  chance  words  work 
upon  children.  I  have  spent  hours  in  thinking  what  I  would 
do,  when  I  was  left  alone,  never  realising  to  myself  what  be- 


iyoes.  283 

ing  left  alone  meant.  And  I  have  been  enthusiastic,  that  is, 
you  know,  as  far  as  I  have  ever  been  so  about  anything,  in 
my  notions  of  the  life  I  would  lead,  and  the  spirit  I  would 
throw  into  it." 

"  And  don't  you  feel  the  same  now  ?  "  said  Helen,  mourn- 
fully. 

Susan  hesitated;  her  hands  were  tightly  pressed  to- 
gether as  she  said,  "  In  reason,  I  think  the  same  as  ever." 

They  were  both  silent ;  and  the  gondola  went  on  its 
smooth  way,  whilst  the  few  soft  sounds  of  the  noiseless  city 
were  borne  faintly  to  their  ear  as  they  passed  the  Guidecca 
and  San  Giorgio,  and  entered  the  more  open  channels  of  the 
Lagune. 

Then  Susan  spoke  as  from  the  fulness  of  an  earnest  and 
saddened  spirit  :  "  I  thought  once — I  think  now — that  there 
is  but  one  way  of  viewing  life,  which  can  make  it  anything 
but  a  horrible  mystery,  a  conscious  insanity;  and  that  is  to 
take  it  as  we  are  told  in  the  Bible,  simply  and  literally  as  a 
place  of  education,  a  school  for  eternity.  And  when  I 
thought  that,  Helen,  it  seemed  to  me  that  all  these  questions 
of  love  and  marriage,  and  the  interests  which  belong  fco  them, 
were  merely  accidents,  different  forms  of  probation  and  dis- 
cipline, which  might  or  might  not  be  good,  but  which  could 
in  no  way  really  affect  the  great  era  sstion  of  hereafter  ;  and 
so  I  put  them  from  me.  And  I  felt  that,  if  I  could  but 
take  in}-  life  in  whatever  form  it  might  be  presented  fco  me, 
with  a  full,  deep,  most  perfect  and  entire  dedication  of  my- 
self to  God,  to  work  for  Him,  fco  train  myself  as  He  wills, 
to  give  up  every  thought  of  personal,  individual  happiness, 
and  live,  as  it  v  lely  in  the  hap]  lm       of  others,  thru 

my  heart  would  have  rest.  I  thought  thai  I  should  be  able 
to  take  the  day  as  it  might  come,  without  a  care  for  the  mor- 
row; thai  I  should  be  comforted  bj  eartblj  love,  bul  that  I 
should  never  be  dependent  upon  it — so  dependent,  I  mean, 


2SG 


IVORS. 


as  to  feel  that  existence  could  not  be  borne  without  it ;  and 
I  believed  that  if  a  single  life  were  my  portion,  I  should  be 
able  to  give  my  highest  affection  to  God,  and  satisfy  my 
craving  for  human  love  by  expending  my  feelings  upon  many, 
instead  of  concentrating  them  upon  one.  That  .wa,s  my 
dream,  Helen  ;  it  made  me  very  contented,  very  happy.  I 
felt  that  loneliness  then  would  be  but  another  word  for  un- 
selfishness, sympathy,  self-devotion,  and  that  which  is  high- 
est, and  dearest,  and  best  of  all,  the  heavenly  love  which  has 
no  need  to  fear  a  rival.  And  so,  instead  of  shrinking  from 
the  prospect  of  an  unmarried  life,  I  was  rather  thankful 
when  I  believed  it  might  be  my  appointed  lot." 

"And  is  it  all  gone  now?"  said  Helen;  and  her  voice 
trembled. 

"  Not  gone,"  exclaimed  Susan  ;  "  no,  not  gone."  But 
there  was  something  in  the  accent  with  which  the  words 
were  uttered,  that  made  Helen  feel  she  dared  not  ask  a  fur- 
ther explanation. 

She  took  out  her  sketch-book  and  made  a  few  lines,  civ- 
ing  an  idea  of  the  churches  of  the  Kedentore  and  San  Giorgio 
ns  they  now  appeared  in  the  haze  of  distance;  and  the  action 
served  to  recall  Susan's  thoughts. 

"  It  is  very  well  to  enjoy  ourselves  in  this  way,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  it  was  not  what  we  came  out  for,  and  Sir  Henry 
will  be  disappointed  if  he  finds  the  drawing  no  more  ad- 
vanced than  it  was  yesterday." 

Helen  gave  the  order  to  the  gondolier.  She  did  not 
wish  to  go  farther;  for  she  felt  that  the  conversation  was 
from  some  cause  stopped,  and  Susan,  witli  all  her  gentleness, 
was  not  a  person  who  could  ever  permit  her  inmost  thoughts 
to  be  fathomed  against  her  will,  even  if  Helen  had  been  in- 
clined to  make  the  attempt. 

They  landed  on  the  Piazzetta  ,  and  Louise  made  a  pur- 
chase of  some  figs,   and   then  stationed  herself  as  Helen's 


ivoes.  287 

guardian  in  front  of  one  of  the  side  entrances  to  St.  Mark's, 
whilst  Susan,  as  was  her  wont,  went  into  the  church. 

It  was  by  far  the  most  satisfactory  time  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  glorious  cathedral.  A  few  scattered  worshippers 
were  kneeling  here  and  there  upon  the  worn  pavement,  and 
occasionally  a  priest  was  to  be  seen  going  from  one  to  the 
other  and  collecting  alms;  but  there  were  no  sight-seers,  no 
curious  gazers.  The  attention  was  neither  directed  to  the 
details  of  the  mosaics,  nor  to  the  strange  patterns  upon  the 
pavement  -r  even  admiration  was  not  called  forth,  but  only 
an  awe-s*truck  sense  of  the  mystery  and  solemnity  of  the 
gloomy  shadows  which  veiled  everything  painful  and  jarring, 
and  the  rich  completeness  of  colouring  which  seemed  to  fill 
the  building  with  a  tinted  atmosphere.  Susan's  heart  was 
very  full  that  morning;  but  it  was  neither  with  joy  nor  sor- 
row, but  with  that  vivid  sense  of  existence,  that  conscious- 
ness of  life,  its  powers  of  happiness,  and  its  capacity  for  suf- 
fering, which,  if  it  were  continued,  must,  it  would  seem,  wear 
away,  merely  by  the  pressure  of  overpowering  sensation,  the 
frail  bond  which  unites  body  and  soul  together. 

There  is  but  one  relief  for  that  state  of  feeling, — quiet- 
ness in  the  presence  of  God;  and  the  weight  of  thought 
passed  from  Susan's  heart,  and  its  beating  became  more 
calm,  as  she  prayed  alone  in  the  grand  old  church,  knowing 
that  she  was  close  to  One  who  understood  all,  and  could  in- 
terpret all  her  needs,  who  knew  her  weakness  far  better  than 
she  knew  it  herself,  and  who  would  bear  her  through  happi- 
or  grief  safe  over  "  the  waves  of  this  troublesome  world 
to  the  land  of  everlasting  life."  . 

She  returned  again  to  Helen,  and  round  a  number  of 
buys  collected,  whom  Louise,  with  her  wretohed  German 
Italian,  was  endeavouring  to  send  away.     Helen  berself  bore 
their  presence  quietly,  only  now  and  then  turning  with  sud- 
den fierc  bo  startle  some  particularly  bold  intruder, 


288  ivoks. 

"Via  !  via  !  "  and  Helen,  without  looking  round,  tapped 
with  her  pencil  the  fingers  of  an  impertinent  urchin,  who 
had  actually  put  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  in  his  eager 
curiosity. 

" Inglese ! '"  was  murmured  amongst  the  crowd;  and 
there  was  a  sudden  lull,  whilst  Susan,  stooping  down,  whis- 
pered, "  There  is  an  English  gentleman  just  come,  who  is 
sketching  likewise  ;  he  will  keep  them  in  order." 

But  Helen  seemed  less  disturbed  by  the  Italian  boys, 
than  by  a  stranger  from  her  own  country,  and,  taking  out 
her  watch,  observed  that  it  was  late,  and  they  must  be  going 
home. 

She  folded  up  her  camp-seat,  put  away  her  sketch-book, 
and  collected  her  pencils. 

Susan  glanced  at  the  English  stranger.  "  A  most  un- 
pleasant-looking man,'"'  she  said  ;  "  so  excessively  slang  !  I 
am  thankful  he  was  not  here"  before." 

"  It  is  too  provoking,"  observed  Helen,  a  little  petu- 
lantly ;  "  when  I  calculated  upon  having  the  place  to  my- 
self.    I  suppose  he  will  be  here  to-morrow." 

"  There  are  some  more  people  coming,"  continued  Susan. 
"  They  all  seem  to  belong  to  the  gentleman.  How  loudly 
they  talk  !  really  one  is  ashamed  of  one's  country." 

Susan's  indignation  was  certainly  quite  justified.  The 
party  who  had  now  joined  the  artist,  were  of  that  peculiar 
stamp,  unfortunately  too  often  to  be  met  with  abroad,  who 
seem  only  bent  upon  showing  that  English  gentlemen,  when 
relieved  from  the  restraints  of  society,  can  cease  to  be  gen- 
tlemen ;  and  English  ladies  almost  forget  that  they  are 
women.  Their  loud  laughter,  self-conscious,  flippant  badi- 
nage, and  uncomfortable  freedom  of  manner  made  Helen 
quicken  her  movements ;  and  even  Louise,  though  not  at  all 
understanding  what  was  said,  seemed  to  think  it  necessary 
to  stand  behind  her  two  young  ladies,  so  as  to  screen  them 
from  observation. 


iyors.  "2S9 

"  If  you  wait,  be  will  ask  to  see  the  sketch,"  whispered 
Susan.  "  He  is  just  the  sort  of  man  who  would."  Aud  the 
idea  made  poor  Helen  so  nervous  that  all  her  drawing  mate- 
rials fell  to  the  ground. 

A  laugh,  hard,  coarse,  and  satirical,  followed  the  acci- 
dent ;   and  the  ladies  of  the  artist's  party  drew  near  the  spot. 

Susan  was  nearer  to  them  than  Helen.  She  heard  some 
one  say,  "  Madame  la  Baronne."  The  voice  struck  her  as 
one  she  ought  to  recognise.  She  gave  a  timid  glance  round, 
changed  CQlour,  and,  putting  her  arm  within  Helen's,  said, 
"  We  will  leave  Louise  to  bring  the  things;  we  shall  be  bet- 
ter at  the  Piazzctta,"  and  drew  her  cousin  away. 

Helen  was  thoroughly  annoyed ;  her  sensitiveness  to 
anything  in  the  most  remote  degree  approaching  to  imper- 
tinence or  vulgarity  was  almost  a  weakness.  She  seated 
herself  in  the  gondola,  and,  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  glisten- 
ing eye,  said,  "Good-bye  to  my  sketch  ;  I  shall  never  try 
that  again." 

Susan  made  no  replyfor  an  instant;  then  she  said,  quiet- 
ly. "  I  am  glad  yon  did  not  see.  It  was  the  Baroness  d'Ol- 
Dan  ami '    she  paused, — "  Madame  Reinhard." 

Helen  started,  bo  that  Louise  exclaimed,  in  fear,     (i 
ing  Susan's    hand,  whilst    her    face    became   deadly  pale,  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice,   "  It  was  an  instinct;   1  fell   something 
was  wrung.      Oh  !   Susan,  I  can't  stay  b< 

"  She  will  not  come  in  our  way,"  replied:  Susan  ;  "and 
you  would  not  speak  it'  she  did." 

"But  to  see  her,  to  know  even  that  it  i  possible  I  Susan, 
you  can  never  understand  the  harm  she  did  me;  the  fearful, 
cruel  harm.  J  feel  it  now;  1  shall  feel  it  to  my  dying  day. 
Nothing  has  been  the  Bame  to  me  rinoe  1  knew  her.  1  can 
never  be  what  I  might  have  keen  if  I  bad  never  known  ber, 
Beg  Papa  to  go— speak  for  mi      tell  bim  be  mu 

"  STou  forgol  thai  you  might   bave  met  in  London     that 


290  ivors. 

it  was  merely  accidental  that  you  Lave  not  done  so,"  said 
Susan,  in  a  soothing  but  determined  tone,  and  still  holding 
Helen's  trembling  hand. 

"  I  won't  think  about  London  ;  I  wish  only  to  do  what  I 
can  now;  and  she  will  bring  it  all  back  to  me, — the  fear,  the 
recollection  of  what  I  should  have  been  if  I  had  listened  to 
her ;  oh,  so  miserable  !  so  miserable  !  I  don't  think  I  saw 
it  at  the  time ;  not  as  I  see  it  now,  I  am  sure.  To  have 
been  the  wife  of  that  man, — not  loving  him — despising  him  ! 
Susan,  I  can't  be  good  where  she  is." 

"We  must  find  out  something  about  her,"  said  Susan; 
"  perhaps  she  may  only  be  here  for  a  few  days.  We  will  ask 
Mr.  Egerton  to  inquire.'- 

Helen  interrupted  her.  "  Claude  !  oh,  no  !  no  !  I  could 
not  bear  him  to  be  told.  Yet  he  must  know  all,"  she  add- 
ed, in  a  lower  tone ;  "  he  can't  think  worse  of  me  than  he 
does." 

"  You  exaggerate,  dearest,"  said  Susan.  "  No  one 
would  say  that  you  had  done  anything  so  shocking  as  you 
seem  to  fancy." 

"  Because  no  one  knows  me  as  I  know  myself,"  replied 
Helen.  "  Susan,  there  is  not  any  human  being  who  can  tell 
the  influence  which  Madame  Reinhard's  principles  had  over 
my  mind.  I  hid  them  from  myself  in  a  veil  of  words,  and 
would  not  allow  myself  to  look  at  them  as  they  really  were; 
but  I  can  see  now  plainly,  as  if  written  by  a  sunbeam,  that 
they  were  obliterating  all  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong.  I 
know  that  I  was  actually  learning  to  forget  that  there  was 
such  a  distinction ;  I  would  never  have  believed  it  if  I  had 
not  experienced  it.  But,  looking  back  at  the  things  which  I 
then  praised, — the  people  whom  I  admired, — I  can  see  that 
I  might  have  been  led  into  any  evil,  simply  because  I  was 
taufht  to  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  it  was  evil.  And  I 
loved  her  dearly ;    I  thought  her  so   perfect  !     Ob,  Susan  ! 


ivors.  291 

don't  ask  me  to  see  her  again."  And  poor  Helen  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  again  repeated,  "  I  loved  her  so 
dearly  !  " 

■'  We  will  take  eare ;  don't  trouble  yourself  about  it; 
leave  it  to  ine,"  said  Susan,  tenderly.  "  Look,  we  are  at 
the  Imperatore;  you  must  not  be  unhappy  now,  or  Lady 
Augusta  will  be  uneasy." 

Helen  raised  her  sad  eyes  to  her  cousin's,  and  answered, 
"  I  must  be  unhappy;  but  no  one  shall  know  it.  Only,  Su- 
san,"— her  voice  faltered, — "  don't  let  Claude  speak  to  me 
about  her." 


CHAPTER    LXXX. 

"  \\'j:ll,  Helen,  my  darling  !  what  success  this  morning  ?  " 
Sir  Henry,  who  had  only  for  the  last  few  mornings  been  able 
to  appear  at  breakfast  at  half-past  nine,  put  out  his  hand 
eagerly  for  the  sketch-book  in  the  good-humoured  manner  of 
one  who  is  contented  with  himself,  and  determined  to  be  con- 
tented with  others. 

Helen  hung  back.  "  It  has  been  rather  an  unsatisfactory 
morning;  I  have  not  done  much.  We  were  tempted  to  row 
on  a  little  beyond  the  Piazzetta,  and  then — we  were  inter- 
rupted." 

She  looked  to  Susan  for  assistance. 

"  We  were  hurried  away  by  BQme  tiresome  people  who 
would  come  and  sketch  too,"  continued   Susan.     "I  suppose 
had  as  much  .right  as  ourselves,  strictly  speaking ;  but 
they  were  so  noisy  and  disagreeabL 

Sir  Henry's  temper  rose  in  a  moment.    "  Disagreeable  !  1 
won't  have  you  go  again;  I  will  go  with  you  myself 
English  abroad  are  detestable.     There  ought   to  be  a  law 


292  ivors. 

allowing  only  certain  people  to  travel.  But  I  will  go  with 
you  myself;  I  want  to  Lave  some  more  sketches.  I  must 
have  one  of  the  San  Giorgio  ;  and  I  am  getting  quite  right 

again." 

"  We  should  he  rather  too  early  for  you,  I  am  afraid," 

said  Helen,  gently;   "  and,  later  in  the  day,  the  Piazza  would 

he  too  crowded." 

"  We  will  manage  it, — we  will  do  something.  Where  is 
Claude  this  morning  ?  "  Sir  Henry  glanced  impatiently  round 
the  room. 

Annette,  who  had  just  entered  with  Lady  Augusta,  re- 
plied that  Monsieur  Egerton  was  gone  out;  she  believed  he 
meant  to  inquire  at  the  post  office  for  letters. 

"  I  don't  want  letters,"  exclaimed  Sir  Henry  ;  "  we  are 
doing  very  well  as  we  are  here ;  I  don't  want  to  he  reminded 
that  we  must  go  away.  Augusta,  my  dear,  you  have  no  fancy 
for  leaving  Venice,  have  you  ?  " 

Rather  an  unfortunate  question,  considering  that  Lady 
Augusta  had  only  five  minutes  before  been  venting  a  fit  of 
the  old  restlessness  upon  Annette. 

Annette  took  upon  herself  to  reply.  Miladi,  she  said,  was 
not  so  well ;  she  did  not  think  Venice  agreed  with  her ;  it 
was  too  damp. 

Poor  Sir  Henry  was  discomfited  ;  but  Susan  soothed  him 
by  saying,  cheerfully,  that  up  to  this  point  Venice  had  cer- 
tainly agreed  wonderfully  well  with  Lady  Augusta;  whilst 
Helen,  with  a  scarcely  audible  sigh,  occupied  herself  with  the 
usual  thoughtful  attentions,  which  now  commonly  had  the  ef- 
fect of  driving  away,  at  least  for  a  time,  Lady  Augusta's 

moods. 

Breakfast  began  rather  silently ;  in  the  middle  Claude 
entered.  He  had  his  own  letters  in  his  hand ;  but  there 
were  none  for  any  one  else.  Helen  seemed  indifferent,  Sir 
Henry  rather  pleased.     Susan  was  disappointed,  and  said  so. 


irons.  293 

"  We  shall  expect  our  English  news  from  you,  Claude," 
said  Sir  Henry.  "  Is  Buckingham  Palace  burnt  down  yet  ? 
is  London  in  insurrection  ?  and  what  are  our  prospects  for 
the  next  session?  Come  man,  tell  us.  Any  hope  of  a 
change  of  ministry  ?  " 

"  My  letters  are  from  Helinsley,  said  Claude,  "  from  my 
bailiff  chiefly.  I  am  afraid  they  would  not  be  interesting  to 
the  company  at  large." 

Lady  Augusta  caught  the  name  Helmsley,  and  asked, 
with  a  most  unfortunate  association  of  ideas,  whether  Kate 
Hope  was  there  still  ? 

Helen's  face  became  rigid  ;  but  Claude  answered  quietly, 
yes,  she  was  doing  very  well.  His  housekeeper  had  made 
her  a  very  useful  person.  "Can  I  say  anything  to  her  for 
you?  "  he  added,  addressing  Susan;  "I  shall  see  her  proba- 
bly before  long." 

••  Nonsense,  my  dear  fellow,"  exclaimed  Sir  Henry  ;  "  you 
talk  as  if  you  had  one  foot  in  the  carriage — or  the  gondola,  I 
suppose  I  must  say  in  Venice, — and  were  wishing  us  good- 
bye. We  have  a  fortnight  before  us  still  for  Italy,  whether 
we  spend  it  here  or  at  Milan." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  m\  fortnight,"  r<  plied  Claude, 
"  I  ought  to  be  in  England  now." 

"In  England!  we  must  all  go  to  England,"  exclaimed 
Lady  Augusta.  "I  don't  want  to  s  i  V.  dci  anymore;  1 
would  much  rather  go  home  if  Claude  go 

Susan  and  Belen  were  silent.  Sir  Henry  said,  a  little 
fretfully,  "  You  forget,  my  dear,  that  I  have  been  lied  by 
the  lea  to  that  wearisome  been  here. 

I  must  see  something  of  Venice  before  we  turn  homewards. 
Milan  too;  I  had  Bel   my  heart  upon  the  girla 
seeing  the  cathedral  thorough!       I    is  folly  to  talk  of  going 
home,   when   we  are  only  jusl   settled.     Come,  Claudi 
your  breakfast,  and  then  we'll  decide  whal    i-  tobedonefor 


294:  itoes. 

the  day.  I  feel  like  a  boy  set  free  from  school,  now  that  I 
can  move  about  without  hopping  like  a  lame  frog  from  room 
to  room." 

"  I  fear  that  is  precisely  the  raason  why  I  must  be  like  a 
boy  summoned  back  to  school,"  said  Claude.  "  I  have  been 
playing  truant  too  long ;  and  if  you  can  do  without  me  I  shall 
have  an  unquiet  conscience,  and  be  very  disagreeable,  if  I 
stay." 

"  Just  put  conscience  in  your  pocket  for  once,  my  dear 
fellow,"  exclaimed  Sir  Plenry  ;  "  it's  what  all  English  people 
do  when  they  come  abroad.  Take  my  word  for  it,  you  are 
a  great  deal  too  strait-laced.  You  know  I  always  found  fault 
with  you  about  it  when  you  were  a  boy.  I  verily  believe 
people  may  die  of  an  enlargement  of  the  conscience,  just  as 
well  as  they  may  of  an  enlargement  of  the  heart." 

"Perhaps  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Claude,  laughing; 
"  but  I  never  found  yet  that  my  conscience  had  attained  its 
full  natural  growth  ;  so  I -am  not  much  afraid  of  dying  of  its 
enlargement.  You  must  remember  that  I  gave  myself  five 
weeks  for  my  tour  when  I  left  England,  and  the  five  weeks 
are  nearly  over." 

"  Five  weeks  !  it's  not  breathing-time  for  a  man  who 
works  like  a  dray-horse,  as  you  do  all  the  year  round.  It 
might  be  very  well  for  a  lazy  old  stager  like  myself,  who  has 
learnt  to  think  that  the  young  horses  can  draw  the  waggon 
without  his  aid,  and  so  does  not  trouble  to  carry  more  than 
his  own  weight.  But  for  you — why  Hume  told  me  you 
would  have  broken  down,  he  was  sure,  if  he  had  not  forced 
you  away." 

"  I  was  rather  worn,"  said  Claude,  gravely ;  "  but  it  was 
not  from  work  only." 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause,  interrupted  by  another 
question  from  Lady  Augusta  :  "  Claude,  did  Kate  Hope 
help  to  make  the  new  furniture  for  Helmsley  ?  " 


ivoes.  295 

"  Some  of  it."     And  Claude  turned  to  Susan,  and  beo-rrCd 

*  CO 

for  another  cup  of  coffee. 

"  The  drawing-rooin  chintz  was  a  very  handsome  pat- 
tern," said  Lady  Augusta. 

Sir  Henry  had  failed  to  catch  the  awkward  train  of  i 
upon  which  Lady  Augusta  so  unfortunately  lingered;  but  he 
could  not  help  seeing,  from  the  countenances  round  the  table, 
that  something  was  wrong.  Seizing  upon  the  first  thought 
which  presented  itself,  he  said,  "  You  have  a  capital  bailiff  at 
Helmshw,  Hume  tells  me  ;  so  there  can  be  no  reason  for 
your  hurrying  away  in  this  fashion,  and  leaving  us  in  the 
lurch.  Besides,  I  thought  you  were  going  to  wait  here  till 
Hume  and  his  boy  joined  you." 

"George  Hume  is  not  so  well,"  replied  Claude;  '-and 
there  is  some  idea  of  his  staying  in  Italy  for  the  winter. 
That,  of  course,  would  make  my  joining  them  out  of  the 
question.  But  if  I  were  to  leave  Venice  at  once,  1  should 
meet  them  at  Verona,  and  have  a  day  or  two  with  them 
then-;   and  then  I  rnkdit  rush  home  as  fast  as  1  liked." 

ill  bent  upon  rushing  home,"  exclaimed  Sir  Henry. 
"  One  would  think  you  were  prime  ministi  i. 

•4 1  am  prime  minister  in  my  own  dominions,"  said  Claude. 
'•  I  appeal  to  Miss  Graham  ;  "  and  he  changed  his  tone,  and 
smiled  as  he  spoke.  "I  am  sure  I  shall  have  support  from 
her.  My  bailiff  writes  me  word  that  the  work  I  left  him  is 
at  a  stand-still,  for  want  of  my  presence.     II  al  ques- 

tions arise  e  ywhicb  he  does  do!  feel  he  has  authority 

to  decide,  and  he  respectfully  hints  that  if  English  gentle- 
men spend  half  the  year  in  London,  making  laws  for  the 
nation,  they  ought  to  spend  the  other  half  on  their  own  i  -- 

j,  making  laws  for  their  own  people.  Now  what  can  be 
said  ?  what  would 

"  That  you  should  go,"  said   Susan,  firmly,  without   the 

1.  in  her  voice;  but  the  next  moment,  her  head 

■   down,  and  tie;  empty  coffee  cup  raised  to  her  lips. 


296  ivoKS. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  new  furniture  at  Helmsley, 
very  much,"  murmured  Lady  Augusta ;  but  Claude,  usually 
so  courteously  attentive  to  her  least  observation,  now  entirely 
disregarded  it.  He  looked  at  Susan  kindly  and  gratefully, 
and  there  was  a  peculiar  tone  of  affectionate  confidence,  re- 
marked even  by  Sir  Henry,  in  his  words,  "Thank  you:  I 
can  always  depend  upon  you  for  helping  me  to  do  right." 

"  Not  very  complimentary  to  us;  eh,  Helen?"  exclaim- 
ed Sir  Henry,  hastily  ;  and  poor  Helen's  voice  seemed  nearly 
choked,  as  she  tried  to  answer  lightly  and  evasively,  "  Su- 
san was  always  famous  for  making  people  do  their  duty." 

Sir  Henry,  though  he  was  not  quite  aware  of  the  feeling, 
was  a  little  "  put  out,"  and  fancied  Helen  neglected  ;  and 
by  way  of  saying  something  which  should  make  her  feel  that 
he  at  least  thought  a  good  deal  of  her,  he  told  her  to  bring 
her  sketch  that  he  mio-ht  look  at  it  a<rain ;  it  seemed  to  him 
capital,  and  if  they  were  all  going  to  rush  to  England  in  this 
sudden  way,  she  must  make  haste  and  finish  it. 

"  I  can  manage  to  work  it  up  from  what  I  have  clone," 
said  Helen,  quickly  ;  "  I  don't  want  to  sketch  any  more." 
She  was  afraid  that  Sir  Henry,  in  his  thoughtless  way,  would 
ask  Claude  to  go  with  them  on  some  future  occasion.  He 
very  often  did  things  of  this  kind  merely  from  obtuseness. 
He  was  so  accustomed  now  to  see  Claude  with  them,  that  he 
was  falling  back  into  the  pleasant,  easy  feeling  of  former 
days,  only  rendered  yet  more  easy  by  the  knowledge,  half 
provoking,  half  satisfactory,  that  Claude  could  never  be 
anything  to  Helen,  she  did  not  like  him.  If  he  cared  for 
any  one  now,  it  was  for  Susan  Graham. 

Helen  brought  her  sketch,  and  Claude  praised  it,  but 
too  coldly  to  satisfy  Sir  Henry ;  for  he  pointed  out  a  defect 
in  the  perspective,  and  doubted  whether  some  particular  part 
of  the  tracery  could  be  correctly  drawn. 

Helen  stood   by  and  listened,  and   owned  he  might  be 


ivoes.  297 

right;  but  when  Sir  Henry  declared  that  they  would  all  go 
the  very  next  morning  to  the  place,  and  Claude  should  cor- 
rect the  sketch  himself,  if  he  fancied  he  knew  so  much  better 
about  it  than  any  one  else,  she  said,  in  a  very  decided  way, 
that  she  had  no  intention  of  going  to  St.  Mark's  again  so 
early;  she  must  make  the  best  that  she  could  of  her  sketch 
at  home. 

"  What  !  not  frightened  away  by  those  noisy  people  ?  " 
exclaimed  Sir  Henry. 

Claude  turned  round  directly,  to  inquire  what  was  meant ; 
and  Lady  Augusta  said,  in  a  plaintive  voice:  "I  always 
thought  it  was  dangerous  for  them  to  go  out  alone,  and 
Lady  Hume's  maid  does  n't  understand  a  word  of  English.-' 

"There  was  no  danger, — nothing  to  fear,"  said  Susan, 
seeing  by  the  peculiar  rigidity  of  Helen's  face  that  a  whole 
torrent  of  excited  feelings  was  working  underneath  ;  "  it 
was  simply  disagreeable.  There  was  rather  a  noisy  party  in 
the  Piazza  this  morning,"  she  added,  speaking  to  Claude; 
"  and  a  gentleman  was  sketching  there,  so  we  did  not  have 
the  place  to  ourselves  as  we  have  had  before.  It  was  of  do 
real  consequence  ;  Helen  had  just  finished  ;  but  I  am  afraid 
they  will  be  likely  to  be  there  again  to-morrow." 

Helen  had  been  fastening  up  her  sketch-book.  She  laid 
it  down  now  on  the  table,  and  said,  very  earnestly  :  "  I  have 
done  as  much  as  I  shaft  c^er  wish  to  do;  and,  dear  papa,  as 
we  can't  have  many  more  days  in  Venice,  ,\<'n  must.  Dot 
waste  your  time  upon  me,  bul  mt  with  Susan  and 

all  you  can." 

"  And  why  not  with  y<>u,  my  child  ?  What's  the  mat- 
ter? I  don't  understand."  Helen  changed  colour  rapidly, 
and  her  hand  trembled,  an d  Sir  Henry  took  hold  of  it  anx« 
iously,  and  said  :  "  I  am  sure  there  is  more  in  tins  than  you 
will  say.  Those  people  were  rude;  -tell  me;  I  i 
know." 


298  itoks. 

"  Oh  !  no ;  indeed,  no."  Helen  looked  at  her  cousin  to 
explain  ;  and  with  the  conviction  that  mystery  would  only 
make  the  awkwardness  greater,  Susan  said  at  once  :  "  We 
did  not  speak  to  them,  nor  they  to  us,  but  they  were  not  all 
strangers  to  us ;  by  sight  at  least.  The  Baroness  d'Olban 
was  one,  and — Madame  Bcinhard." 

"  That  woman  !  that  audacious  humbus;  in  Venice  !  "  Sir 
Henry  laid  his  hand  fondly  upon  Helen's  head.  She  had 
sat  down,  and  was  resting  it  upon  her  hand. 

Claude  said,  in  a  low,  marked  tone  :  "  I  heard  this 
morning  that  they  were  in  Venice." 

"  They  are  not  English.  Thank  Heaven,  they  are  not 
English  !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Henry. 

"  Only  I  am  afraid  they  have  been  allowed  to  form  part 
of  our  English  society,"  said  Claude,  in  the  same  strained, 
uncomfortable  manner. 

"  Such  fools  we  are  to  believe  in  them !  "  exclaimed  Sir 
Henry.  "  So  they  are  all  here,  are  they  ? — Monsieur  le 
Baron,  and  Madame  la  Baronne,  and  Herr  Beinhard,  and — 
what  is  the  German  for  Madame?" 

"  Madame  Beinhard  does  not  trouble  her  husband  to 
accompany  her,"  said  Claude,  sternly :  "  they  are  sepa- 
rated." 

Helen  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears,  and  rushed  from  the 
room. 


CHAPTEB  LXXXI. 

Helen  and  Claude  met  no  more  on  that  day.  A  party  was 
formed  for  the  Academia  and  the  Lido;  but  Helen,  shut  up 
in  her  own  apartment,  her  head  throbbing  with  pain,  her  eye- 
lids swollen  with  tears,  and  her  heart  heavy  with  its  burden 
of  sorrowful  and  repentant  thought,  declined  all  entreaty  to 


ITOKS.  209 

accompany  them.  When  they  were  gone  she  came  into  the 
salon,  and  read,  and  talked  to  Lady  Augusta ;  hut  the  sound 
of  a  footstep  or  a  voice  drove  her  hack  again  to  solitude.  It 
is  terrible,  even  to  the  most  indifferent,  to  read  in  the  fate 
of  others  what,  hut  for  God's  mercy  and  protecting  Provi- 
dence, might,  in  all  human  probability,  have  been  their  own. 
The  very  feeling  of  present  safety  brings  out  in  powerful 
contrast  the  danger  that  has  been  escaped.  The  seaman, 
saved  from  shipwreck,  shudders  more  at  the  recollection  of 
his  peril  when  he  stands  firmly  on  dry  land,  and  sees  his 
comrades  borne  to  destruction,  than  when  he  was  himself 
buffeting  with  the  waves;  and'  the  heart  saved  from  the 
shipwreck  of  pure  and  holy  principle  realises  the  horror  of 
its  once  dangerous  position  with  an  infinitely  keener  anguish, 
when,  humbly  clinging  to  God  for  help,  it  watches  to  tie 
close  the  career  of  those  with  whom  it  once  sympathised, 
than  even  at  the  moment  of  its  first  awakening  to  a  con- 
sciousness  of  sin,  its  guilt,  and  its  consequences.  There  had 
been  much  of  personal  feeling, — pride,  disappointment,  and 
a  sense  of  injured  dignity,  in  Helen's  indignation  when  she 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  fact  of  Madame  Reinhard'a  insincer- 
ity. Hi-ic  was  angry  with  her,  and  knew  that  the  anger  was 
justifiable;  and  thii  feeling  hid  from  her,  for  a  time,  her 
own  share  in  tho  evil  which  she  condemned.  l>ut  the  per- 
ception had  grown  and  deepened  since  then.  Lady  Augus- 
ta's illness,  the  anxiety  and  self-reproach  which  it  caused,  had 
sown  the  seed  of  self-knowledge;  and  as  Helen  strove,  day 
by  day,  to  read  her  own  heart  mere  truly,  and  serve  God 
more  perfectly,  .W|>  did  the  veil  vanish  from   the  past,  and  it 

d  out  clearly  in  its  shame  and  periL 

Madame  Reinhard's  career  might  have  been  hers:  what 
was  there  to  prevent  it  ?  She  bad  imbibed  the  same  princi- 
ples, and,  as  far  as  in  lier  lay,  carried  them  mil  to  the  Batne 
extent.     Wilfully  and  knowingly,  seeking  only  the  gratifica- 


300  IVOKS. 

tion  of  a  wild,  untamed  spirit  of  independence,  she  had  ac- 
cepted a  man  whom  she  despised ;  so  had  Madame  Reinhard. 
Putting  aside  the  consideration  of  the  sacred  promise  to  be 
made  before  God,  that  she  would  devote  herself  to  the  hap- 
piness of  her  husband,  she  had  chosen  to  look  upon  him  only 
as  the  means  by  which  she  might  obtain  a  certain  amount  of 
worldly  independence  and  enjoyment ;  so  had  Madame  Rein- 
hard.  Delf  had  been  her  object;  and  self,  ako,  had  been 
Madame  Reinhard's.  When  two  persons  set  out  together  on 
the  same  dangerous  path,  and  follow  it  in  its  devious  windings, 
and  never  pause  to  look  back  at  the  point  from  which  they 
started,  or  the  goal  to  which  'they  are  tending,  who  is  to  say 
that  the  Hand  of  God  will  be  interposed  to  save  one  from 
the  precipice  in  which  it  ends,  while  the  other  is  allowed  to 
rush  on  madly  to  destruction  ? 

Helen  did  not  condemn  Madame  Reinhard,  sunk  though 
she  was  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  She  only  prayed  for 
her;  and,  in  praying  for  her,  she  prayed  also  for  herself,  to 
be  forgiven,  strengthened,  guided;  to  be  inspired  with  the 
spirit  of  watchfulness  and  self-distrust ;  to  be  made  contented 
under  whatever  cross  should  be  in  store  for  her  ;  to  be  tauirht 
to  live  for  the  happiness  of  others,  as  she  had  once  lived  only 
for  herself  Helen's  prayers  had  been  very  earnest  of  late  : 
they  were  never  so  earnest  as  on  that  long  and  sorrowful 
day. 

And  Susan  in  the  meantime  was  happy,  unconsciously 
yet  fully  happy,  even  though  Claude  still  spoke  of  departure  : 
and  the  words,  "  We  must  see  what  we  can  to-day,  for  to- 
morrow will  have  other  engagements,"  were  sounded  in  her 
ear  from  hour  to  hour,  as  though  to  remind  her  of  the  knell 
which  must  sooner  or  later  be  tolled  for  all  human  joys. 

Claude  lingered  by  her  side,  devoted  himself  to  her  in 
word  and  action ;  seemed  unable,  except  by  an  effort,  to 
separate  himself  from  her,  even  to  pay  those  necessary  attcn- 


IVORS.  301 

tions  to  the  rest  of  tbe  party  which  in  his  most  abstracted 
moments  he  never  forgot.  True  he  spoke  of  Helen,  anxious- 
ly, with  deep  interest,  which  could  not  be  distrusted;  but  it 
was  the  watchful  interest  of  doubt,  not  the  calm  confidence 
of  sympathy,  with  which  he  addressed  himself  to  her.  He 
talked  for  the  first  time  of  the  days  of  his  past  happiness, 
and  seemed  desirous  to  explain  his  feelings,  and  to  show  how 
his  love  for  Helen  had  first  sprung  up.  His  mind,  indeed, 
rested  upon  that  period,  more  than  upon  the  present.  If  in 
any  way. that  was  alluded  to,  it  was  evident  that  it  pained 
him.  He  looked  upon  Helen,  apparently,  as  suffering  for 
her  former  follies,  and  felt  for  her.  and  was  inclined  to  blame 
himself  for  having  in  any  way  done  her  harm  by  his  impa- 
tience and  exacting  temper.  He  had  learnt  wisdom,  he  said, 
since  then  ;  his  danger  now  would  be  that  of  over-caution  : 
what  he  should  most  require  would  be  the  absolute  certainty 
that  his  affection  was  returned:  and  how  was  that  to  be  ob- 
tained ?  and  as  his  eyes  met  Susan's  their  glance  seemed  to 
demand  from  her  the  assurance  which  his  lips  could  not  ven- 
ture to  ask. 

So  passed  the  morning  at  the  Academia,  and  Susan  dwelt 
with  a  fresh  and  untold  delight  upon  the  beauty  before  her, 
fin'  every  sense  was  quickened  by  the  enjoyment  of  a  perfect 
sympathy.  She  had  visited  it  often  before,  and  now  she 
could  bear  to  leave  much  unnoticed,  and  give  herself  up  to 
the  contemplation  of  ber  peculiar  favourites :  Titian's  wond<  r- 
ful  "  Assumption  if  the  Blessed  Virgin  ;  and  her  Presentation 
in  the  Temple,"  and  the  far-famed  "Paris  Bordone,"  which 
tells  one  of  the  most  striking  incidents  in  Venetian  historj  ; 
and,  perhaps  better  than  all.  the  exquisite  drawings  bj  Leo 
nardo  da  Vinci  and  Ids  pupil  Luini,  which  Beem  to  embody, 
even  more  than  the  designs  of  Raphael,  the  spirit  id'  purity 
and  unearthly  bolin 

The  Armenian  Conveul  and   the  Lido  were   reserved  for 


oO_}  IYOK  5. 

the  evening.  It  was  a  particular  request  made  by  Claude 
The  gaiety  of  the  Piazza,  he  said,  was  distasteful  to  him, 
and  he  wanted  his  last  associations  with  Venice  to  be  those 
of  quietness  and  repose.  It  was  the  first  regular  announce- 
ment which  he  had  made  that  his  mind  was  fully  made  up 
upon  the  subject  of  departure.  Sir  Henry,  subject  himself 
to  momentary  fits  of  what  he  called  Quixotic  duty,  had  sup- 
posed that  Claude's  resolutions  were  of  the  same  character ; 
and  when  they  were  not  talked  about  he  thought  they  were 
forgotten.  But  he  knew  little  of  the  iron  rule  which  a  mind 
like  that  of  Claude  exercises  over  itself  at  all  moments. 
There  was  no  neutral  ground  with  him  between  duty  and  in- 
clination. Either  a  thiug  was  right  to  be  done,  or  it  was 
not :  and  throughout  the  whole  of  that  busy  day,  whilst  en- 
grossed apparently  in  present  objects,  there  was  an  under 
current  of  conflicting  feeling  in  Claude's  mind,  a  struggle 
between  the  strong  will  to  remain  and  the  duty  which  bade 
him  depart,  to  which  every  word  and  action  unconsciously 
had  reference. 

But  he  had  decided,  and  had  found  rest.  Once  before, 
carried  away  by  feeling,  he  had  cast  the  die  too  soon,  and 
the  end  had  been  fatal  to  his  happiness.  Now  it  seemed  that 
a  warning  voice  had  been  sent  to  guard  him  against  the  same 
danger,  and  on  his  own  head  would  be  the  consequences  if  he 
chose  to  turn  a  deaf  car  to  it. 

There  was  a  duty  which  called  upon  him  to  go ;  not,  per- 
haps, obviously  imperative,  and  one  which  a  less  honest  con- 
science might  easily  have  put  aside  ;  but  still  unquestionably 
a  duty,  if  there  was  nothing  to  oppose  it.  That  was  suffi- 
cient for  Claude.  His  arrangements  were  made  so  as  to  ex- 
cite no  further  discussion,  and  whilst  waiting  for  the  arrival 
of  Lady  Hume's  party,  before  setting  out  for  the  Armenian 
Convent,  he  announced  to  Lady  Augusta  that  he  must  pro- 
ceed the  next  day  to  Verona.     Helen  was  not  in  the  room 


ivors.  303 

wnen  he  said  it;  perhaps  he  might  have  found  it  more  diffi- 
cult to  state  his  intentions  if  she  had  heen.  But  Susan 
came  to  his  aid,  and  with  gentle  and  judicious  tact  managed 
to  divert  Lady  Augusta's  thoughts  from  the  annoyance  of 
Claude's  departure  to  the  prospect  of  soon  meeting  again  in 
England. 

"  It  is  hut  a  short  time,"  she  said  ;  "  we  shall  all,  we  hope, 
he  at  home  again  before  very  long,  and  then  it  will  be  such  a 
pleasure  to  meet,  and  tell  all  that  has  been  done  and  seen." 

The  observation  seemed  so  simple  and  natural  that 
Claude,  who  was  looking  at  Lady  Augusta,  was  not  at  all 
struck  b}'  it;  and  did  not  remark  any  change  of  voice.  But 
he  felt  grateful  to  Susan,  and  replied  very  cordially,  that  he 
should  look  forward  to  that  more  than  to  anything  ;  he  could 
not  say  how  different  his  recollections  of  his  tour  would  be 
now,  from  what  thev  would  have  been  if  he  had  not  spent 
this  happy  fortnight  in  Venice. 

"  And  it  is  to  be  the  last  night,"  said  Lady  Augusta, 
mournfully.  "  They  won't  see  any  thing,  or  go  any  where 
when  you  are  gone,  Claude;  and  I  dare  say  Sir  Henry's  foot 
will  become  bad  again;  and  Helen  and  Susan  can't  go  about 
together.  I  want  Helen  to  go  out  this  evening;  1  shan't 
and  Helen  wants  change.  I  wish  .she  would  go;  I  wonder 
why  she  keeps  to  her  room  ;  she  never  used  to  do  it ;  I  don't 
like  it;  I  don't  think  she  is  well.  Susan,  why  don'1  yon 
make  her  come  here?      She  must  say  good-bye  to  Claude." 

Susan  glanced  at  Claude  uneasily.     There  was  m 
citement  and   incoherency   in   Lady   Augusta's   speech  and 
manner,  than  she  bad  lately  remarked.     Claude  was  inclined 
to  regret  bis  determination. 

•■  Helen  oughl  to  come  and  say  good-bye,"  repeated  Lady 
Augusta. 

i:  But  I   am   not   going   now,"   said   Claude,  soothi 
"  Even  if  I  do  leave  Venice  to-morrow,  we  Bhall  be  together 


304  IVORS. 

again  this  evening.     We  are  only  going  out  for  an  Lour  or 

two." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  hind  of  Helen  not  to  say  good-bye," 
persisted  Lady  Augusta.  "  She  always  used  to  have  fancies, 
and  she  is  very  unkind  to  Claude ;   it  is  very  wrong  of  her." 

Claude  turned  pale.  There  was  no  meaning  in  Lady 
Augusta's  words,  but  they  gave  hirn  a  sensation  of  heart- 
sickness. 

"  I  will  call  Helen,"  said  Susan,  perceiving  that  Lady 
Augusta's  mind  was  not  likely  to  be  set  right  by  words. 

Claude  made  a  movement  as  though  he  would  have  pre- 
vented her  ;  then  he  sat  down  silently. 

Susan  and  Helen  came  back  together.  Helen  looked 
very  worn  and  unhappy ;  so  unhappy  that  she  had  no  room 
for  any  other  feeling.  She  was  extremely  cold  in  manner, 
and  said  to  Claude  that  she  was  sorry  to  hear  he  talked  of 
going,  in  a  tone  which  had  no  accent  of  sorrow  in  it. 

"  You  must  wish  Claude   good-bye,  Helen,"   said  Lady 
Augusta,   plaintively.      "  He   is  going  to  leave  us.     It   is ' 
very  unkind  in  you  to  say  you  won't   be   with  him   the  last 
evening." 

Claude's  eyes  were  raised  eagerly  to  Helen's  face,  and 
his  lips  moved,  but  his  words  were  chilled  by  the  stiff  reply: 
"  There  are  so  many  that  I  should  be  in  the  way ;  and  I 
have  a  headache." 

1  Not  in  the  way,  indeed,  Helen,"  exclaimed  Susan. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  very  much  in  the  way."  Helen  tried  to 
smile.  "  I  hope  you  will  have  a  very  pleasant  row.  I  shall 
make  papa  take  me  to  the  Lido  another  evening." 

"  It  would  do  your  head  good  if  you  would  come  with 
us,"  said  Claude,  gently. 

"  Thank  you,  no,  I  shall  be  better  at  home,  and  I  shall 
go- to  bed  early;  probably  before  you  return." 

Susan  went  to  the  window.     "  The  gondola  is  ready," 


ivoks.  305 

she  said  ;   "  Miss  Hume  is  there  :   uo  one  else.      She  will  not 
come  up  stairs,  1  suppose." 

"  I  may,  perhaps,  not  see  you  again,"  said  Claude,  ad- 
dressing Helen.  "  I  think  I  shall  be  obliged  to  go  early  to- 
morrow." He  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  almost  as  coldly  as 
Helen  herself,  except  that  his  eyes  contradicted  his  lips. 

Susan  was  moving  Lady  Augusta's  chair,  so  that  she 
might  be  able  to  see  the  gondola.  .She  did  not  notice  what 
was  passing. 

Helen's  face  expressed  a  conflict  of  bitter  feelin^.  She 
replied  to  Claude's  remark  Ixv  giving  him  her  icy  hand,  and 
saving  :  "  Good-bye,  I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  jour- 
ney." 

Claude  answered  nervously  and  eagerly  :  "  I  can't  have 
a  pleasant  journey  if  I  leave  you  unhappy." 

"  I  deserve  it  all."  The  burning  blush  of  shame  crim- 
soned Helen's  cheeks.  She  withdrew  her  hand  hastily  from 
Claude  ;  uttered  another  cold  good-bye,  and  left  him. 

y  and  soothing  both  to  body  and  mind  was  that  eve- 
ning's gliding  voyage  through  the  winding  channels  inter- 
secting the  Lagune  to  the  tiny  island  on  which  the  Armenian 
fathers  have  fixed  their  habitation.  It  is  a  quiet  and  v.ery 
tempting  resting-place.  The  white  walls  of  the  convent  rise 
immediately  out  of  the  water,  which  closes  around  them, 
willing,  it  would  seem,  to  shut  out  all  sounds  but  those  of  its 
own  gentle  but  ceaseless  pla  h.  The  small  entrance  court, 
surrounded  by  a  cloistered  wall;,  and  having  a  brighl  garden 
in  the  centre,  speaks  of  study  and  meditation.  And  there 
is  a  vineyard  also,  where  clustering  leaves  and  delicate  ten 
drils  form  arcades  to  shelter  the  long  green  walks  beneath 
them  from  the  glare  of  the  noi  an  ;  and  a  terrace  from 

whence  in  the    till  aing  the  eye,  weary  with  pi 

cut  objects,  may  turn  to  the  buildings  of  Venice  sel  in  their 
watery  frame,  or  wandi  r  a  e  Lagune  to  the  shorei 

27 


30G  Ivors. 

the  mainland,  and  find  a  pleasure,  renewed  by  every  passing 
light  or  flickering  shadow,  in  the  misty  outline  of  the  glo- 
rious mountains  of  the  Southern  Tyrol. 

It  had  all  been  seen.  The  courteous  father  who  acted 
as  guide  had  displayed  the  treasures  of  the  convent  library, 
and  the  work  of  the  printing-room,  which  is  one  of  the  chief 
occupations  of  the  monks,  and  pointed  out  with  proud  de- 
light the  picture  by  Giovanni  Bellino,  which  no  sum  of  mo- 
ney would  ever,  he  said,  induce  them  to  part  with ;  and 
Claude  and  Susan  again  and  again  had  found  themselves 
walking  apart,  or  lingering  behind  to  examine  some  object 
of  mutual  interest,  whilst  both  were  silent, — both  sad. 

Once  more  they  stopped  in  the  little  garden.  The  gon- 
dola was  ready  at  the  steps.  Sir  Henry  pressed  forwai-d  to 
place  Miss  Hume  in  it.  The  Armenian  father  accompanied 
them,  and  then  returned  to  Susan.  He  gathered  a  rose,  the 
last  of  the  season,  and  presented  it  to  her.  It  was  full 
blown,  and  some  of  the  petals  fell  to  the  ground. 

Susan  looked  a  little  vexed.  "  I  had  wished  to  carry  it 
home  to  Helen,"  she  said  to  Claude. 

"It  should  have  been  gathered  sooner,"  he  replied.  "It 
has  lived  to  be  wasted." 

The  monk  plucked  another  flower,  and  Susan  accepted  it 
gratefully ;  but  she  collected  the  remaining  petals  of  her 
faded  treasure,  and  as  she  laid  them  in  her  pocket-book, 
said,  "  I  won't  complain.  It  is  a  pleasant  memory  now ;  it 
would  have  been  but  a  hope  before." 

Claude's  countenance  changed.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  quickly, 
"  and  a  hope  that  might  never  have  been  fulfilled.  You  are 
right;  memory  is  best."  He  walked  on  a  few  steps;  then 
as  they  drew  near  the  steps,  he  added,  "  and  hopes  plucked 
too  soon  leave  only  sad  memories.  It  is  better  to  be  pa- 
tient." 

Susan's  face  was  averted  :  he  could  not  see  its  expression, 


ivors.  307 


neither  could  be  feel  the  trembling  of  her  Land  as  lie  assisted 
her  into  the  gondola.  He  was  thinking  of  other  things  ;  and 
bidding  a  kindly  farewell  to  the  courteous  Armenian  father, 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  boat,  and  rousing  himself  to  exertion, 
addressed  some  light  words  to  Miss  Hume,  and  kept  up  an 
unbroken  conversation  with  her  until  they  landed  upon  the 
desolate  shore. 

Sir  Henr}T  was  the  first  to  leave  the  gondola,  lfent 
upon  showing  his  freedom  and  independence  after  his  weary 
days  of  helplessness,  he  insisted  upon  taking  care  of  Miss 
Hume,  and  rejected  the  idea  of  walking  with  his  niece,  for 
whom  he  professed  a  very  high  regard,  but  whom  it  so  hap- 
pened, he  said,  that  he  could  see  every  day.  So  it  was  that, 
without  intention  on  cither  side,  Susan  and  Claude  again 
found  them.-elves  walking  alone  and  apart. 

Aery  silent  they  were  at  first,  as  they  passed  the  few 
poor  cottages  containing  the  only  inhabitants  of  the  barren 
island,  and  slowly  made  their  way  along  a  raised  path  by  the 
side  of  a  narrow  canal,  the  banks  of  which  were  planted  with 
Indian  corn.  There  was  nothing  in  the  scene  to  excite  a  re- 
mark,  and  nothing  in  their  own  hearts  which  at  that  moment 
admitted  of  inspection.  Claude  especially  seemed  wrapt  in 
thought,  anxious,  and  undecided.  lie  had  the  look  6f  a 
man  wholly  engaged  in  solving  some  painful,  important  prob- 
lem  of  moral  conduct  When  Susan  at  length  broke  the 
silence,  almost  frightened  by  its  continual]  started,  ami 

.-puke  eagerly,  even    impatiently.      '•  Stormy,    did    you 
STes,  it  look.-  bo.    So  much  the  better  for  the  Adriatic;  ':  and 
he  hurried  on. 

'■  But  it  will  be  uy  Tor  us  to  turn  back,  won't  it  '.'  " 

said  Susan,  timidly. 

"Not  till  we  h;  □  it, — the  clear,  open  sea, — all  the 

is  hut  a   sham.     I;  uddenly  checked   him- 

self, and  spoke  more  gently,     ■■  1   111.-    omethii  1 


SOS  IVOKS. 

must  say  it  now,  if  you  will  hear  me.  If  I  lose  this  moment 
I  may  have  no  other." 

Susan's  utterance  was  choked  ;  but  she  quickened  her 
pace.  She  had  an  indescribable  longing  to  find  herself  again 
with  her  uncle  and  Miss  Hume. 

They  appeared  at  that  instant,  returning  from  the  sandy 
beach  upon  which  they  had  looked  for  an  instant,  contented 
wifh  saying  that  they  had  gazed  from  the  Lido  upou  the 
Adriatic. 

"  Threatening  !  "  said  Sir  Henry  to  Claude,  as  he  buttoned 
his  coat  around  him.  "  Quite  a  cold  wind  !  I  shall  get  back 
to  the  gondola.  Don't  stay  till  midnight  making  verses 
upon  the  waves." 

Susan  spoke  laughingly  to  Miss  Hume,  and  asked  her 
whether  she  had  carried  away  some  sand  for  a  remembrance. 
Such  a  foolish  question  it  was  !  But  there  are  times  when 
nonsense  is  more  useful  to  us  than  sense. 

Claude  drew  her  on.  The  ground  was  rough,  and  he 
made  her  take  his  arm,  but  he  did  not  speak  for  some  mo- 
ments. 

They  stood  upon  the  Lido  ;  the  long  waste  of  sand  in- 
terrupted only  by  the  few  moss-grown  tombs  of  the  Jews, 
and  the  signs  of  a  stunted  and  arid  vegetation,  washed  by  the 
angry  waters  of  the  wide,  cheerless   Adriatic. 

Then  Claude  said  :  "  This  is  my  last  night.  Must  I  go 
to-morrow  without  carrying  hope  with  me  ?  I  ask  you  as  a 
friend."  And  his  gaze  rested  upon  her  with  an  earnestness 
which  was  agony. 

Susan's  eyes  met  his  for  one  moment  of  silence,  but  they 
sank  again  instantly,  and  before  a  sound  escaped  her  lips,  he 
went  on  :  "  You  know  Helen  perfectly ;  all  she  feels  and 
thinks ;  she  keeps  nothing  from  you.  You  know  me  also — 
better  than  any  one  else  knows  me.  If  there  is  no  hope,  tell 
me." 


irons.  30:' 

A  long  pause  followed.  The  answer  came  at  last ;  very 
low,  but  calm  and  gentle,  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a  woman's 
sympathy.     "  I  think  there  is  hope." 

He  spoke  again.  "  A  thousand  blessings  upon  you  for 
those  words.  But  I  am  a  coward.  I  wrecked  my  own  hap- 
piness once,  I  dare  not  do  it  again.  I  leave  my  fate  in  your 
hands.  "When  you  tell  me  I  may  venture  I  will,  but  not 
before."  He  took  her  hand,  and  pressed  it  gratefully,  af- 
fectionately, and  still  held  it  as  he  added  :  "  you  are  afraid 
to  speak  ;  you  think  I  have  taken  a  liberty  ;  that  I  am  laying 
too  much  upon  you." 

Susan's  voice  never  faltered,  but  her  words  were  abrupt ; 
"  I  will  try." 

"  Thank  you!  oh  !  so  much,  so  much  !  But  I  can  never 
thank  you  sufficiently.  I  can  never  tell  you  what  you  have 
been  to  me;  my  one  comfort  and  guiding  star  in  this  long, 
dreary  time.  I  knew  how  it  must  be  when  you  were  with 
her:  I  was  sure  that  your  influence  must  make  her  what  she 
is.  And  you  will  let  me  speak  of  yourself,  too,  now.  You 
must  not  be  angry  if  I  say  how  it  has  gladdened  me,  in  the 
midst  of  all  my  suspense;  to  think  that  you  were  happy." 
He  looked  at  her,  expecting  an  answer;  but  no  sound  Game 
save  the  swelling  moan  of  the  rolling  waters  seeking  rest 
where  there  was  none. 

Claude  changed  the  subject  with  self-reproach.  Ee 
thought  he  had  intruded  too  far.  "  I  shall  go  now,"  hesaid, 
"comparatively  happy.  I  shall  feel  that  I  leave  a  friend 
and  advocate  behind  me.  Perhaps  in  time  Bhe  will  learn 
from  you  to  think  of  me — not  as  a  hard  master,  always 
tutoring  and  advising,  but  as  one  who  has  learni  (nun  her 
lessons  of  unselfishness  and  daily  endurance,  which  could 
never  have  been  taughl  otherwise  I  will  not  ask  you  to 
that  you  will  work  for  me  in  my  absence  ;  I  feel  thai  trust 
is  more  binding  than  any  promi 


310  IY<TRS. 

It  might  have  been  an  echo  from  the  moss-grown  sepul- 
chres upon  the  shore,  which  answered,  "  I  promise."  And 
Claude  drew  Susan's  arm  again  within  his,  and  they  turned 
away. 

The  Lido  was  left  to  its  solitude ;  and  the  waves  lifted 
their  crests,  and  as  they  clashed  upon  the  beach  bore  back 
with  them  the  light  sand  upon  which  human  feet  had  thought 
to  find  their  firm  foundation ;  and  no  eye,  save  that  of  God, 
marked  the  changes  which  they  worked ;  as  no  eye  but  His 
saw  the  destruction  of  the  bright  fabric  of  earthly  joy, 
which,  in  those  few  moments,  had  crumbled  into  dust  beside 
the  wild  shores  of  the  Adriatic. 


CHAPTER   LXXXII. 

The  first,  faint  tinge  of  autumn  was  gathering  over  the 
woods  of  Ivors.  There  was  a  gleam  of  brightness  upon  the 
light-spreading  beeches  in  the  park,  a  richer  hue  over  the 
close-leaved  elms  and  the  jagged  foliage  of  the  gnarled  oaks. 
Sunshine  was  more  glowing,  but  shadows  were  deepening. 
The  avenue  had  been  cleared  from  the  few  leaves  scattered 
by  a  late  storm,  the  flower  garden  had  been  carefully  put  in 
order,  and  late  geraniums  and  gorgeous  dahlias  gave  a  bril- 
liancy of  colouring  to  the  somewhat  faded  aspect  of  the 
closely  mown  turf,  scorched  by  a  long  and  unusual  summer 
drought. 

Men  were  vigorously  at  work  in  the  plantations  ;  women 
were  weeding  in  different  parts  of  the  grounds ;  there  was 
an  appearance  of  energy  in  the  movements  even  of  the  lazy 
boy  hired  by  the  gardener  out  of  charity,  to  help  to  move 
flower-pots  and  put  the  walks  of  the  kitchen  garden  in  order 
because  Sir  Henry  Clare  was  to  be  at  home  immediately. 


IVORS.  311 

Feople  said  Sir  Henry,  not  Lady  Augusta,  as  they  used 
to  do.  Those  days  of  strict  superintendence  were  over,  and 
rumour,  always  eager  with  its  fatal  news,  said  that  Lady 
Augusta  was  returning  worse,  instead  of  better;  that  a  cold, 
caught  by  some  accidental  exposure  to  night  air,  had  par- 
tially brought  back  the  fever  which  had  first  broken  her 
down,  and  that  it  was  no  question  of  recovery  with  her  now; 
that  she  might  live,  but  that  life  could  never  be  enjoyment 
either  to  herself  or  her  friends;  and  that  the  most  probable 
expectation  was,  that  with  her  strength  so  weakened,  slie 
would  sink  rapidly  in  body  as  well  as  in  mind. 

The  report  might  be  exaggerated,  but  it  was  certain  that 
all  directions  were  given  without  reference  to  Lady  Augusta, 
except  that  some  few  careful  instructions  were  sent  by  Miss 
Clare  as  to  the  arrangement  of  the  rooms  which  were  spe- 
cially appropriated  to  her  use. 

The  butler  and  the  footman  were  standing  together  at 
the  front  door,  straining  their  eyes  to  look  down  the  avenue. 
At  the  same  moment  a  gentleman  was  seen  "walking  leisurely 
towards  the  house,  and  the  butler,  with  an  exclamation  which 
showed  that  he  was  too  proud  to  receive  any  but  his  own 
master,  turned  into  the  house  and  left  his  companion  to  an- 
nounce to  Claude  Egcrton  that  Sir  Henry  was  not  yet  ar- 
rived, but  was  expected  every  moment. 

Claude  entered,  but  stopped  to  ask  more  questions.  "  Sir 
Henry,  you  said.  Is  he  coming  alone  .'  Ilf  wrote  me  word 
that  I  was  to  be  here  to  meet  the  whole  party." 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  My  Lady,  aid  M  Clare,  and  Mi  — 
Graham  arc  all  ex]  .  thai    is,]  believe    Mi--  Graham 

to  Wingfield   to-night.     A  fly  has  been  ber,  as 

they  don't  pass  through  the  town;   and  i-  waiting." 

"  Mrs.  Graham  is  nol  here  then  ?" 

"No,  sir, — no 'me.  Will  you  go  into  the  library?  we 
bavc  had  a  lire  Lighted  there:  we  though!  my  Lady  might  !"• 


312  iyors. 

chilly."  And  Claude  went  to  the  library,  and  sat  down  in 
the  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and  looked  round  the  room  and 
thought  of  other  days. 

That  sameness  in  outward  and  inanimate  things, — what 
a  bitter  mockery  it  presents  to  the  changes  in  the  circum- 
stances and  feelings  of  the  living  being!  There  was  the 
room,  unaltered,  except  that  it  had  lost  the  appearance  of 
being  in  constant  use.  The  books  were  laid  regularly  in 
order,  the  pens  were  new,  the  inkstand  was  perfectly  bright, 
and  the  chairs  were  placed  symmetrically.  There  was  not 
the  comfortable  look  of  business  which  had  pervaded  it  in 
the  days  of  Lady  Augusta's  health  and  strength.  But  the 
oval  table  in  the  window  was  still  covered  with  pamphlets 
and  papers,  the  large  work-basket  stood  in  its  old  place,  and 
the  Bohemian  flower  vase  had  been  filled  by  the  gardener 
with  the  best  selection  which  his  taste  could  make ;  and 
without  there  were  the  same  trees  and  shrubs,  only  some  a 
little  increased  in  size,  and  the  deep  glades  admitting  the 
slanting,  sunset  rays,  and  beyond  them  the  heavy  masses  of 
wood,  and  the  blue  mist  hanging  over  the  distant  town. 
Only  the  spirit  was  wanting ;  and  how  had  that  fled  ! 

Claude  went  back  in  thought  through  many  years.  It 
seemed  that  he  could  trace  now  the  course  of  Lady  Augusta's 
life, — her  principles  and  objects ;  they  were  so  mixed  up 
with  his  own,  that,  in  thinking  of  her,  he  was  thinking  of 
himself;  and  at  that  moment,  unselfish  though  he  was,  his 
own  position,  his  own  hopes  and  fears,  claimed  instinctively 
and  peremptorily  his  full  consideration.  He  dwelt  upon  the 
remembrance  of  his  boyish  visits  to  Ivors,  the  impression 
they  had  made  upon  him,  his  perception  of  Helen's  faults, 
and  the  prejudice  which  had  lingered  in  his  mind  in  conse- 
quence. He  had  judged  her  hardly  then  :  looking  back,  he 
could  see  the  germs  of  those  noble  qualities  which  trial  and 
disappointment  had  since  developed.  But  he  had  been  repelled 


ivoks.  313 

from  the  besrinnimr,  even  when  he  did  not  understand  his 
own  feelings,  by  Lady  Augusta's  evident  manoeuvring.  And 
then  his  mind  recurred  to  that  time  of  excitement,  delusion, 
unreality  which  had  followed;  he  could  not  explain  it  to 
himself  or  account  for  it.  But  he  had  the  consciousness  of 
having  been  led  on,  deceived,  and  of  Helen's  having  been 
deceived  likewise.  Lady  Augusta's  interference  had  ren- 
dered them  false  to  each  other  and  to  themselves  ;  for  Claude 
blamed  himself  as  much  as  he  was  forced  to  blame  Helen. 
He  could  see  now  his  own  blindness, — how  he  had  lived  in  a 
world  of  shadows.  His  present  feelings  were  cjuite  different 
from  those  which  had  formerly  so  entranced  him ;  so  much 
calmer,  so  much  more  resigned  to  God's  "Will,  even  in  this 
moment  of  wearying  suspense.  There  had  been  a  sense  of 
insecurity  then,  even  when  his  hopes  were  brightest.  He 
had  always  feared  to  approach  too  near  to  Helen  lest  his 
should  be  opened  to  the  truth  ;  he  would  not  look  at 
her  as  she  was,  and  he  had  suffered  the  fatal  consequences 
of  his  own  wilful  errors.  Now  he  felt  that  he  was  treading 
upon  firm  ground;  he  had  no  misgiving,  except  as  to  the 
possibility  of  his  affection  being  returned;  ami,  as  the  pang 
of  doubt  was  felt,  Claude  drew  forth  from  his  pocket-book  a 
note  in  the  handwriting  of  Susan  Graham.  It  -aid  :  "  JTou 
may  be  at  Ivors:  I  think  you  will  be  happy.  It  ifi  difficult 
to  convince  her  that  you  can  overlook  the  pa-t  ;  but  1  have 
made  her  feel  that  it  is  possible.  When  that  barrier  is  re- 
moved her  heart  will  be  free,  and  you  will  say  for  yourself 
what  no  one  can  say  for  you." 

"S.  G."' 

» 

There  was  no  delusion  in  this.  Helen  knew  herself,  ami 
Claude  knew  her  li  .If  she  would  consent  to  be  his, 
they  might  pass  through  life  together,  mutually  strengthen- 
ing  each    other,  and    loving    all    the    re    deeply  and   truly, 


314  ivoes. 

because  both  could  see  and  acknowledge  that  love  in  this 
world  is  not  perfection,  but  probation. 

Claude  said  this  to  himself,  and  thought  himself  calm 
and  prepared  for  any  disappointment ;  but,  as  the  sound  of 
carriage-wheels  was  heard  in  the  avenue,  he  sank  back  in  his 
chair  with  a  sensation  of  faint  heart  sickness,  and,  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  prayed  with  the  earnestness  of  a  soul 
overwhelmed  with  the  anguish  of  an  intolerable  suspense, 
that  God  would  bear  him  up,  for  he  had  no  power  in  him- 
self. 

The  footman  looked  into  the  library  on  his  way  to  the 
hall.  "  They  are  come,  sir ;  I  don't  know  whether  you 
heard  the  bell ; "  and  Claude  obeyed  the  summons  and 
followed. 

Sir  Henry  jumped  out  of  the  carriage  and  grasped  his 
hand  eagerly.  "  Claude,  my  dear  fellow,  indeed  this  is 
kind — home-like !  "  Sir  Henry's  eyes  glistened,  and  his 
voice  was  husky  ;  he  glanced  for  an  instant  at  Lady  Augusta, 
and  hurried  on  a  few  steps  without  noticing  the  servants,  and 
then  returned  again  ;  and  gently  pushing  Claude  aside,  said, 
"  I'll  manage,  I'll  manage  ;  she  will  be  more  at  home  with 
me  :  she's  sadly  changed." 

He  lifted  his  wife  to  the  ground,  and  motioned  to  the 
servants  to  move  aside.  Claude  did  not  offer  to  assist ;  Lady 
Augusta's  faltering  step  and  vacant  glance  told  their  own 
tale ;  he  could  not  venture  to  intrude  upon  her.  Helen  and 
Susan  were  standing  by  the  door  of  the  carriage,  looking  for 
parcels.  Claude  did  not  know  whether  they  they  had  seen  him ; 
he  asked  if  he  could  help  them.  Helen  kept  her  face 
averted,  apparently  not  hearing.  Susan  turned  towards 
him. 

Change  !  what  change  could  be  like  that  ?  The  hollow 
indentation  of  the  cheek,  and  the  marked  sallow  lines  around 
the  pale   lips,  and  the  swollen  eyelids,  weary  with  the  effort 


iyoes.  315 

to  shut  out  all  sight  of  earth,  and  underneath  them  the  hazi- 
ness of  the  dark  full  eyes,  over  which  the  long  lashes 
drooped,  as  though  the  brain  were  so  worn  with  thought, 
that  one  longing  only  was  left  to  it,  even  the  craving  for  a 
sleep  that  should  know  no  waking.  It  was  Susan  Graham's 
wraith,  not  herself,  until  she  spoke.  Then  there  was  the 
gentle  voice,  full  of  sweet  womanly  tenderness,  with  its  under 
tone  of  depth  and  power  ;  and  across  the  haggard  face  passed 
a  smile,  not  brilliant,  indeed,  like  Helen's  sunshiny,  summer 
beauty,  but  bright  with  the  touching  gladness  of  the  light 
which  breaks  through  a  wintry  cloud,  and  bids  us  hope, 
even  against  hope,  because,  so  God  has  willed,  that  our 
true  joy  on  earth  should  be  realised  "  by  faith,  and  not  by 
sight," 

Claude  started  when  he  saw  Susan.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  ask  if  she  had  been  ill ;  but  she  stopped  him  before 
the  question  was  uttered,  and  giving  him  her  hand,  said, 
"  You  will  be  a  comfort  to  them  all."  The  next  moment 
she  withdrew  herself  from  the  warm  grasp  by  which  he 
strove  to  detain  her,  and  walked  on,  following  Lady  Au- 
gusta,  and  none  would  have  marked  a  trace  of  effort  or 
self- control,  except  in  the  rigid  compression  of  her  colourless 
lips 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  take  these  things  for  you,"  said 
Claude  to  Helen. 

She  could  not  avoid  hearing  him  then,  and  she  turned 
round  and  gave  him  a  basket  and  some  books,  and  laughed 
nervously,  as  she  said  it  was  impossible  to  welcome  bim,  for 
her  hands  were  full. 

"I  don't  need  a  welcome,''  he  said;  "if  I  am  only  al- 
lowed to  be  here." 

Helen  quickened  her  steps,  and  Led  the  way  to  the 
library. 

It  wa  i  empty. 


316  iyobs. 

She  glanced  round  the  room,  and  went  tip  to  the  oriel 
window,  and  sitting  down  in  the  window  seat,  pressed  her 
face  against  the  pane  of  glass,  as  though  to  shut  in  the  tears, 
which  would  fain  have  escaped. 

"  It  is  a  sad  return,"  said  Claude,  tenderly,  as  he  stood 
behind  her.     "  But,  Helen,  there  must  still  be  hope." 

"  None,"  said  Helen,  and  she  looked  at  him  firmly,  and 
added,  "  this  last  attack  has  wrecked  her  completely.  Poor 
papa  !  " 

"  And  you  won't  think  of  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  myself  too  much,"  she  said,  whilst  a 
faint  smile  glanced  across  her  face.  "  Even  .now  I  ought  to 
to  be  with  her." 

"  Stay,  one  moment,  stay;  "  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
arm,  as  she  rose.  "  Helen,  will  you  allow  no  one  to  comfort 
you  ?  " 

"  G-od  will  and  can,"  said  Helen.  "  I  wish  to  look  only 
to  Him." 

"  But  he  sends  us  earthly  friends.  He  allows  some  the 
privilege  of  offering  comfort." 

"  Yes,  some  who  have  the  right,"  said  Helen,  quickly; 
and  again  she  would  have  moved. 

"  And  I  have  it  not ;  but  I  had  it  once." 

Helen  shuddered,  and  her  limbs  trembled.  She  leaned 
against  the  window  seat. 

"  I  may  have  it  again,"  continued  Claude,  passionately, 
"  if — oh,  Helen,  grant  it,  and  I  ask  no  other  earthly  hap- 
piness." 

"  You  have  tried  it,  and  it  has  failed,"  said  Helen,  and 
her  voice  faltered. 

"  Failed,  because  we  did  not  know  each  other ;  because  I 
was  exacting." 

"  And  because  I  was — what  I  am  and  always  shall  be," 
said  Helen,  bitterly.  "  Claude,  Claude,  you  forget,  that  I 
have  wronged  you." 


IY0E3.  317 

"Love  cancels  every  debt,"  said  Claude;  and  he  took 
her  unresisting  hand  in  his.  And  Helen  burst  into  tears, 
and  murmured,  "  It  is  all  I  have  to  offer." 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  a  fly  drove  up  to  the  entrance  of 
Wingfield.  Court ;  almost  before  it  had  reached  the  door, 
eager  eyes  were  looking  out,  and  loving  voices  tittered  their 
words  of  welcome. 

"  My  precious  child  !  "  and  Susan,  as  she  threw  herself 
into  her  mother's  arms,  felt  that  warm  kiss  of  unspeakable, 
holy,  unselfish  affection,  for  which,  when  it  is  taken  from  us, 
we  pine  in  the  hour  of  our  lonely  sorrow,  as  the  pilgrim 
pines  for  the  water  in  the  desert 

"  Isabella,  dearest,  you"  look  so  well."  Susan's  accent 
was  so  full  of  sympathising  pleasure  and  congratulations, 
that  her  sisters,  in  their  delight  at  her  return,  could  trace  in 
it  no  undertone  of  heaviness.  Anna  drew  her  into  the 
study.  "  See,  we  have  had  a  fire  lighted  for  \'nn,  you  are 
such  a  chilly  mortal.  Now,  let  us  look  at  you;  "  and  Su  san 
was  unwillingly  turned  towards  the  light. 

"  She  docs  n't  look  well,"  -aid  [sabella,  gravely. 

And  Mrs.  Graham  took  Susan's  trembling  hand  in  both 

.  and  in  a  voice  which  she  vainly  tried  to  render  calm, 
said:  "  My  darling,  you  should  have  told  us  you  had  been 
ill." 

"No,  Indeed,  indeed;" — Susan  laughed — oh  I  such  a 
hard  laugh  ! — "we  have  been  travelling  rather  fast  tin1  last 
week,  ami  Ladj  Augusta  baa  been  very  ill,  and  made 
every  one  anxious.  I  want  rest,  I  -hill  do  quite  will  then; 
indeed,  I  only  want  rest.  Now,  [sabella,  tell  mo  every- 
thing about  home." 


318  ivoks. 

Home  meant  "  everything  about  yom-self ;  "  but  Isabella 
could  not  make  ber  confession  before  so  many,  and  she  only 
put  ber  arm  round  her  sister,  and  said  :  "  I  am  very  happy," 
— and  the  large  tears  glistened  in  her  eyes.  But  there  were 
no  tears  in  Susan's  ;  only  a  quiet,  fixed  look  which  seemed 
to  show  that  she  had  a  difficulty  in  understanding  even  her 
own  words.  Mrs.  Graham  would  not  appear  to  watch  her. 
She  asked  questions  about  Helen  and  Lady  Augusta,  and 
the  journey,  and  conversed  about  home  matters,  and  by  de- 
grees drew  Isabella  out,  and  helped  her  over  her  first  shy- 
ness, and  made  Anna  talk  about  little  thiugs  which  happened 
in  the  neighbourhood;  and  when  the  sisters  seemed  to  have 
satisfied  their  first  eager  curiosity  and  excitement,  she  said : 
"  This  poor  child  wants  quiet,  so  she  shall  go  and  lie  down 
in  her  own  room  a  little,  and  then  we  will  have  tea,  and  after 
tea  Martha  shall  unpack  for  her." 

"Not  yet,  mamma.  Susan,  you  haven't  heard  half; 
you  must  n't  go  yet,"  said  Anna,  frying  to  detain  her. 

And  Isabella  kissed  her,  and  added,  that  it  was  hard  to 
lose  sight  of  her  even  for  half  an  hour. 

But  Susan  did  not  say  she  wished  to  stay;  she  moved 
mechanically  till  she  reached  the  door,  and  then  she  turned 
round  and  smiled,  and  said :  "  We  must  talk  all  the  evening, 
I  am  tired  now ;  "  and  followed  her  mother  up  stairs." 

"  Anna  wanted  to  have  your  little  room  new-papered 
whilst  you  were  away,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  as  she 
opened  the  door  of  Susan's  apartment  ;  "  but  I  thought  you 
should  have  your  own  choice  ;  and  I  fancied  too,  that  you 
would  like  to  see  it  just  the  same. 

"  Thank  you,  yes ;  no  change  ; — I  don't  want  any  change." 
Susan  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  Only  rest,  my  darling.  Will  you  try  and  get  some 
now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    Oh  !  mamma,  mamma,  is  it  really  home  ?  " 


ivoks.  319 

Susan's  eye  wandered  round  the  room,  and  she  grasped  her 
mother's  hand  tightl\\ 

"  Really  home,  my  own  child  ;  with  so  many,  many 
hearts  to  love  you  !  You  will  feel  the  quietness  of  it  soon  ; 
yon  have  had  too  much  anxiety  and  excitement." 

"  Quiet  !  Oh  yes,  it  will  be  very  quiet,"  said  Susan  ; 
"  and  I  want  that.  Mamma,  you  won't  let  me  go  from  you 
again."  The  tone  of  sorrowful  entreaty  went  to  her  mother's 
heart. 

"  My.«hild,  how  can  you  ask  me '?  I  have  longed  for 
you  every  hour  of  your  absence, — but  I  felt, — I  hoped  you 
were  happy."  Mrs.  Graham  fixed  her  eyes  earnestly  on  Su- 
san's face,  and  unable  to  bear  the  glance,  Susan  turned  away, 
and  said,  quickly  :  "  I  was  happy  ;  I  enjoyed  it  all  very  much, 
at  first." 

"  But  at  last,  when  Lady  Augusta  became  so  ill,  there 
could  have  been  nothing  but  anxiety  ;  only  you  must  have 
been  such  a  comfort  to  Helen." 

"  I  hope  I  was, — I  don't  know."  Susan  trembled  vio- 
lently. 

"  Arc  you  uneasy  about  her  ?  Is  there  anything  amiss  ?  " 
a  ked  Mrs.  Graham,  anxiously. 

"Oil!  no,  no  ;  she  is  very  good  ;  and  she  will  lie  quite 
happy.  Mamma,"  and  Susan  turned  round  suddenly,  and 
her  voice  became  strangely  firm, yet  hollow,  "she  will  marry 
Mr.  Eeerton.' 

The  quickness  of  a  mother's  insight !  It  is  a  second  pro- 
phecy, for  in  those  few  words  the  vague  dread  of  years  was 
realised.  Mrs.  Graham  drew  Susan  towards  her,  and 
whispered:  "God  help  yen,  my  darling," — and  Susan, 
throwing  herself  on  her  knees,  hid  her  face  in  her  mother's 
lap,  and  murmured,  shuddering  :  "  Hate  me,  mamma;  I  de- 
serve it;  lam  wicked;   I  am  not  worthy  to  be  with  yon.'' 

"  God  sees  do  Bin,  my  precione  one,  in  the  feelings  which 
I  [q  gi  i .-.  n  .  m  re  wronglj  indulged  " 


320  ivoes. 

"  They  arc  wrong,  tbey  must  be ;  "  Susan  lifted  up  her 
haggard  face,  and  her  look  was  wild  in  its  agony ;  "  he  did 
not  think  of  me ;  he  never,  never  cared  for  me.  But  I 
thought, — oh  !  indeed  I  thought, — I  would  not  have  dwelt 
upon  it, — I  would  have  left  everything.  Mamma,  you  think, 
— you  know  I  would.     Oh  !  it  is  so  terrible,  so  terrible." 

"  My  child,  God  will  help  you  in  this,  none  else  can.  He 
sees  it  was  not  meant." 

"  He  knows  I  would  have  Helen  happy,  and  I  tried  ; — 
mamma,  I  tried.  It  was  left  to  me,  and  I  said  all  I  could, 
and  I  bore  up.  Helen  thought  as  I  did  ;  she  told  me  so.  It 
was  one  night, — the  night  Lady  Augusta  was  taken  ill, — she 
told  me  that  he  had  been  more  to  me  than  to  her,  and  she 
could  not  think  he  cared  for  her.  And  I  said  it  plainly, — 
I  would  not  let  my  voice  change  ;  I  told  her  that  I  was  no- 
thing to  him  ;  and  then — Oh  !  mother,  mother,  let  me  die  ;  " 
and  Susan's  voice  grew  faint,  and  her  hands  dropped  power- 
less by  her  side. 

Mrs.  Graham  drew  her  towards  the  bed  and  laid  her 
gently  upon  it ;  her  lips  parted  into  a  feeble  smile,  but  there 
were  no  tears  of  relief,  no  softening  of  the  stony  gaze  of 
anguish ;  and  still  she  kept  her  mother's  hand  in  hers,  and 
murmured,  "  Sinful,  sinful !  save  me,  mother,  save  me  !  " 

"  The  feelings  which  God  would  not  have  called  sinful  if 
it  had  been  His  will  to  bless  them,  cannot  be  sinful  in  His 
sight  because  He  sees  good  to  disappoint  them,  my  darling. 
He  has  sent  you  a  trial,  not  a  punishment." 

"  But  I  indulged  them.  I  ought  to  have  seen.  I  was 
blind,  because  I  wished  it,"  continued  Susan :  "  and  now — 
oh  !  mamma,  mamma!  if  they  were  not  sinful  then,  they  are 
now ;  and  I  have  them,  I  can't  escape  from  them."  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  My  child  !  the  future  must  be  left  to  God.  I  have  no 
misgivings.     It  would   be  a  wicked  want  of  faith  to  doubt 


ivors.  321 

that  He  will  enable  you  to  overcome  everything.  You  have 
done  so,  already.  He  sees,  and  I  see,  that  you  have  acted 
nobly." 

"  No,  never,  never,"  exclaimed  Susan.  "  Mamma,  I  said 
the  truth  to  Helen;  T  don't  know  how;  I  scarcely  knew 
what  I  said;  but  the  horrible  feeling,  the  jealous}-  was  there 
still.  I  thought  I  was  not  jealous  ;  and — I  dou't  know,-' 
— she  paused  for  a  moment,  and  gazing  piteously  in  her 
mother's  face,  murmured, — "  if  he  had  said  once,  only  once, 
that  he  loved  me,  I  think  I  could  have  given  him  to  Helen 
and  been  happy." 

And  then  came  a  torrent  of  impetuous,  overwhelming 
tears,  and  the  heavy-laden  heart  seemed  for  a  while  to  ha\  e 
found  relief. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

There  followed  a  weary  time, — days  of  anxious  care  and 
nights  of  watching.  The  deep  stream  which  bends  its  quiet 
course  through  the  smooth  meadows,  gathers  force  from  the 
fulness  of  its  unwasted  powers,  and  when  at  length  it  is 
roused  into  energy,  has  an  overwhelming  strength  unknown 
to  the  fretting,  tossing  waters  which  have  chased  their  way 
over  rocks  and  stones,  and  turned  aside  at  every  oh  tacle  to 
wear  for  themselves  new  channels,  expending  their  eagerness 
in  foam  and  bubble. 

Susan  (Ira  ha  in  had  been  called  cold,  sometimes  she  had<  veil 
called  herself  so.  The  things  which  excite,]  others  had  but 
little  power  over  her;  the  harassing  annoyances  which  ren- 
dered other-  mis<  rable,  were  regarded  by  her  as  matti  rs  of 
indifference.  Even  the  enjoyments  of  life  tfere  received  by 
her  calmly;  she  was  never  roused   to  eestacy,  and  bad  but 


322  ivors. 

few  impulses  of  enthusiasm.  Her  deepest  feelings  were 
known,  even  to  herself,  chiefly  by  the  effort  made  to  control 
them  ;  for  her  smiles  were  given  to  her  fellow-creatures, 
whilst  her  tears  were  reserved  for  God  ;  and  that  which  we 
pour  forth  before  Him  we  are  little  able  to  realise  to  our- 
selves. 

So  it  was  that  not  even  Mrs.  Graham,  with  all  her  loving 
perception  of  her  daughter's  character,  was  fully  prepared 
for  the  effect  which  one  great  shock  might  produce.  She 
had  known  that  Susan  might,  and  probably  would,  love  in- 
tensely, if  ever  the  feeling  were  awakened  at  all,  but  she  had 
calculated  upon  the  habitual  self-restraint,  the  daily  and  hour- 
ly watchfulness  which  had  been  her  child's  characteristic 
almost  from  infancy,  to  guard  her  against  the  possibility 
either  of  a  misplaced  or  an  exaggerated  affection.  The  cir- 
cumstances which  had  actually  occurred  had  been,  if  not  en- 
tirely unforeseen,  at  least  quite  beyond  her  control.  It  was 
a  thought  to  which  she  was  compelled  continually  to  recur,  in 
order  to  keep  her  mind  in  its  right  balance,  as  she  sat  by  Su- 
san's bedside,  watching  the  wasting  of  continual  fever,  listening 
to  the  half-penitent,  half  agonized  confessions  of  the  sorrowful 
and  broken  heart,  aud  marking  the  struggles  for  resignation, 
and  the  conflict  with  haunting  memories  and  natural  feelings, 
which  the  sensitive  conscience  condemned. 

In  the  utter  prostration  of  her  physical  powers,  Susan 
had  become  like  a  little  child.  She  had  not  strength  to  be 
reserved,  and  little  by  little,  by  broken  sentences  and  passing 
observations,  and  often  by  the  doubtful  questionings  of  a 
heart  busy  with  self-upbraiding,  avid  touched  in  that  tender- 
est  point  of  womanly  feeling,  which,  if  it  is  once  wounded, 
can  never  be  entirely  healed,  she  revealed  the  story  of  her 
life. 

Who  was  to  blame  ?  Mrs.  Graham's  first  thought  turned 
upon  herself.     Long,  long  before,  the  dread  of  such  a  catas- 


ivoks.  323 

trophe  bad  crossed  her  mind :  but  could  she  by  any  step  of 
ber  own  have  averted  it  ?  She  might  have  refused  to  join 
the  Admiral  in  London,  and  so  have  kept  Claude  and  Susan 
apart;  but  her  duty  at  that  time  was  to  minister  to  the  old 
man's  comfort ;  and  Claude  was  absorbed  in  politics  ,  and 
Susan's  feelings  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud  by  his  avowed 
preference  for  Helen.  She  had  no  right  to  conjure  up 
a  very  unlikely  and  remote  evil,  and  allow  it  to  interfere 
with  a  present  duty.  The  journey  abroad  had  been  planned 
and  carried  out  without  reference  to  Claude,  and  solely  out 
of  kindness  to  Helen.  The  very  fact  that  Susan  was  with 
her  cousin  would,  at  first  sight,  have  rendered  it  wholly  im- 
probable that  she  should  have  been  thrown  in  the  way  of 
Claude.  No  human  power  had  planned  that  meeting.  If 
blame  could  be  attached  to  any  person,  it  must  be  to  Claude; 
and  Mrs.  Graham  would  have  blamed  him  bitterly  almost 
unnardonably,  but  fur  a  note  received  from  Helen,  the  day 
after  her  return  ;  announcing  her  own  happiness,  and  anxious- 
ly inquiring  for  Susan,  and  begging  to  be  allowed  to  see  her. 
She  spoke  in  it  of  Isabella's  approaching  marriage,  and  said 
that  she  had  taken  a  great  liberty  in  mentioning  it  to  Claude; 
but  that  she  had  found  he  was  under  a  falsi;  impression  as  re- 
garded Susan,  thinking  that  the  engagement  was  hers;  and 
as  the  thing  seemed  now  generally  known,  she  had  thought 
it  better  to  set  him  right.  The  mistake  was  m<  ntioned  in 
the  simplest,  most  matter-of-fact  way;  for  it  wa-a  matter 
of  indifference  to  Helen,  except  that  she  would  have  cared 
much  more  for  Susan's  prospects  of  happiness  than  Bhe  did 
for  Isabella's:  but  to  Mrs  Graham  it  afforded  an  interpreta- 
tion of  Claude's  conduct,  which  removed  the  weight  as  of  a 
mountain  from  her  heart.  Whether  his  manner  and  his 
words  had  always  been  wise  and  prudent,  she  could  not 
iud&e:  for  she  had  not  been  a  witness  to  them.  But  Bhe 
could  well  understand  the  ea  a  and  freedom,  which  the  idea 


324 


IVORS. 


that  Susan's  affections  were  engaged,  had  given  him.  At 
least,  he  had  not  intentionally,  or  even  carelessly,  trifled 
with  her  feelings ;  he  was  still  what  she  had  always  thought 
him ;  and  with  this  clue  Mrs.  Graham  threw  aside  every 
painful  misgiving,  and  bore  patiently  the  details  which  Su- 
san in  her  candour  and  simplicity  unintentionally  revealed, 
and  which  had  been  the  means  of  fatally  wrecking  her  hap- 
piness. 

They  were  sitting  together  one  evening  about  three 
weeks  after  Susan's  return.  The  fever  was  subdued ;  and, 
for  the  first  time,  she  had  been  carried  from  her  bed  and 
laid  upon  a  sofa  by  the  window.  It  was  warm  for  the  be- 
ginning of  September,  and  the  flowers  on  the  table,  which 
were  daily  sent  from  Ivors,  gave  a  cheerful  summer  look  to 
the  little  room ;  although  the  view  from  it  was  not  of  trees 
and  fields,  but  of  the  lane  which  divided  the  garden  of  Wing- 
field  Court  from  the  town. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  return  and  be  a  burden,"  said  Susan, 
as  she  laid  her  wasted  hand  upon  her  mother's.  "  I  thought 
I  should  come  back  and  help  to  prepare  everything  for  Isa- 
bella's wedding ;  but  I  am  only  a  drawback." 

"  Isabella  will  not  have  to  wait  longer  than  she  first  ex- 
pected," said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  We  always  talked  of  three 
months.  You  v/ill  be  strong,  I  trust,  by  that  time,  my  dar- 
ling."    She  looked  at  Susan  uneasily. 

"  I  mean  to  b^  well,  mamma ;  that  is,  if  it  please  God. 
I  wish  to  be."  There  was  a  pause,  and  Susan  added :  "  I 
try  to  wish  it." 

Mrs.  Graham  kissed  her  tenderly.  "  You  must  wish  it 
for  my  sake,  my  child.     What  should  I  do   without  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  think  of  that.  I  could  not  live,  at  least,  I 
think  not,  without  that  feeling.'' 

"  Or  without  the  feeling  of  being  a  comfort  to  some  one,'' 
said  Mrs.  Graham. 


"  Some  one,"  repeated  Susan,  and  she  faintly  smiled  ; 
"  that  was  the  first  lesson  I  remember  when  I  was  quite  a 
tiny  child  ;  that  I  was  to  be  a  comfort  to  some  one.  I  did 
not  think  then  that  it  could  ever  be  difficult.  I  fancied  I 
was  a  comfort  to  every  one." 

"  And  yon  have  been,  my  darling.  No  one  has  clone 
more  in  a  short  life  to  make  others  happy  than  you  have." 

"  It  seems  nothing  now,"  said  Susan ;  "  and  mamma, " 

and  the  struggling  anguish  dimmed  her  eyes ; — "  the  power 
seems  all-gone." 

"  But  it  will  come  again.  "We  want  peace  and  rest  our- 
selves, and  then  we  can  give  it  to  others." 

"  Rest,  rest,"  murmured  Susan.  She  turned  her  head 
away,  and  a  convulsive  shudder  passed  over  her,  as  she  added 
in  a  voice  scarcely  audible:  "  If  I  could  forget!  if  it  were 
not  sinful !  " 

';  My  child,  we  have  talked  of  that  before  :  we  won't  re- 
turn to  it  now  ;  it  is  not  a  thought  for  reason,  you  must  ban- 
ish it." 

"  But  it  comes,  it  haunts  me,"  said  Susan,  and  she  fixed 
her  hollow  eyes  upon  her  mother  imploringly.  "When  1 
go  to  sleep,  it  is  there;  and  when  I  wake  up  in  the  night  it 
comes  to  me  as  the  first  thought,  and  everything  brings  it 
•back  to  me.  Mamma, — you  know  it," — she  caught  Mrs. 
Graham's  hand,  "  he  would  think  it  sinful  ;  he  would  de 
me.  Sometimes,  oh  !  I  have  such  a  wild,  wild  fancy  ;  that 
I  must  go  to  him  and  till  aim  all,  ami  hear  him    say  that  lie 

loathes  1  j  j  -  -  :    and  then  that  I   would   hide   myself  s ewhere 

far  off,  and  no  oik;  should  hear  my  mine'  again." 

"  You  are  ill,  my  darling,  thai  is  one  cause  of  all  this; 
you  have  no   power  to   reason  justly.      Sinful  feelings  are 

e  which  we  wilfully  indulge  knowing,  or  even  Buspecting, 
that  they  are  contrary  to  the  law  of  God.     Where  there 
no  law,  there  could  have  b    :^  no  Bin.     But   no  power  of  ar- 


326  ivoes. 

gumcnt  will  teach  you  this  now ;  only  when  the  wild  fancy 
comes,  remember  that  you  may  say  it  all  to  God,  and  that 
will  help  you  more  than  any  acknowledgment  to  man." 

"  I  pray,  indeed  I  pray,"  said  Susan,  "  when  I  can  ;  but 
my  thoughts  wander  back,  and  I  seem  too  wicked  to  be 
heard." 

"  But  even  if  you  can't  pray,  if  your  thoughts  seem  quite 
incoherent,  yet  say  them  to  God.  We  may  speak  to  Him 
when  we  have  scarcely  the  power  to  pray,  because  we  have 
not  strength  to  wish." 

"  And  He  will  forgive  ;  "  said  Susan,  doubtfully.  "  But 
the  feelings  won't  go.  Mamma !  mamma !  what  shall  I  do 
if  they  don't  ?  " 

'■'  They  will  go,  my  child.  God  sends  a  blessing  with 
time,  which  we  can  never  understand  as  we  look  forward." 

But  if  I  don't  want  them  to  go  ?  "  said  Susan,  and  her 
look  for  a  moment  was  eager  and  imploring ;  and  then  the 
whole  expression  of  her  face  changed,  and  she  tried  to 
hide  her  face  with  her  thin  hands,  as  she  said  in  a  hollow 
voice :  '•  Mamma,  I  cannot  part  with  the  memory ;  it  is  my 
all." 

'  My  darling  one,  that  will  be  your  trial ;  the  bitter,  bit- 
ter trial.  But  oh !  Susan,  is  there  anything  with  which  one 
would  not  part  for  God  ?  "  ' 

Susan  was  silent.  Her  mother  saw  the  trembling  of  her 
whole  frame,  and  the  large  drops  which,  as  she  turned  aside 
her  head,  forced  their  way  down  her  wasted  cheeks.  For  a 
moment  the  long  fingers  were  clasped  together  convulsively ; 
and  then  Susan  looked  round  again,  and  a  faint  smile  lit  up 
her  face,  and  she  said :  "  Mamma,  I  have  asked  Him  to  take 
it  from  me." 

"  My  own  child,  I  knew  you  would  have  strength  for  the 
prayer.  Yet  I  can  tell,  oh!  so  much  better  than  you  may 
think,  the  struggle  it  must  cost  to  think  that  it  will  be 
granted." 


ivo  327 

"  I  have  thought,"  said  Susan,  "that  I  might  live  with 
memory.  Even  lately,  as  I  have  heea  lying  here  at  times 
alone,  I  have  let  my  mind  go  back,  and  then  there  was  rest; 
no,  not  rest,  but  something  better  than   rest, — something, — 

mamma "  she  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck, 

and  whispered,  "  if  I  might  only  love  him  still  in  my  dreams  ! ' 

Mrs.  Graham  rested  the  weary  head  on  her  shoulder,  and 
whispered  :  "  Our  Lord  gave  up  all  for  us,  Susan.  There 
was  nothing  withheld,  not  even  His  Father's  love." 

"  Yes,, all,  all ;  mamma,  I  will  try."  And  there  was  a 
long  silence ;  but  Susau  laid  her  head  back  again  on  her  pil- 
low, and  said  quickly  :  "  Will  life  be  very  long  ?  " 

■•  As  long  as  God  wills  ;  and  He  has  work  for  as  to  do." 

"  I  have  no  power  now  for  work,"  said  Susan. 

"  Only  the  power  to  struggle,"  replied  Mr.-.  Graham. 
"  But  there  is  no  work  so  great  as  that." 

"  For  oneself,  yes.  But  I  was  so  vain,  so  proud.  I 
thought  I  did  not  need  any  care  for  myself;  and  now  there 
is  no  one  else  whom  I  can  do  anything  for." 

'■  My  darling,  you  cannot  see  how  G«»d  is  dealing  with 
you;  the  work  for  which  he  is  preparing  you.  .May  I  tell 
you  ;  can  you  bear  +o  hear  what  I  think  that  may  be  ;  if  it 
should  please  Him  that  you  should  never  main  . 

••  To  live  for  you  ;  to  love  you,  and  comfort  you,  and  be 
more  to  you  than  ten  thousand  Ruths  could   ha  a  to 

Naomi  ;  never,  di  per,  to  Leave  you,  my  own  sweet  mother," 
exclaimed  Susan,  passionately;  and  holding  Mrs.  Graham's 
hand  in  hers,  me  added  :  "  1  can  bear  anything  for  you." 

•  Ves,  to  be  with  me  alwa;  .1  trust,  my  child,"  replied 
Mrs.  Graham;  "to  be  m\  blessing  and  comfort  unspeakable. 
Bui  not  to  live  for  me  only.  This  is  a  dreary  world,  Susan, 
and  there  are  many  Lonely  and  aching  to  I"-  found  in 

it;  and  but   few  to  comfort  them,  I  many  bave 

found  their  own  home.-,  of  I  live    in    thi  ir    own 


328  itors. 

circles,  and  finding  all  their  duties  and  their  sympathies 
within,  have  no  leisure  to  attend  to  the  claims  without.  We 
must  not  for  a  moment  condemn  them.  God  has  appointed 
them  their  place,  and  there  is  very  much  that  is  good  and  holy 
in  these  deep  concentrated  affections.  But  there  are  some 
whom  he  has  seen  fit  to  set  free  from  such  exclusive  ties. 
He  has  given  them  hearts  as  large — feelings  as  deep — but 
there  is  no  one  earthly  channel  into  which  they  may  exclu- 
sively flow.  Yet  He  must  have  a  purpose  for  those  feelings ; 
and  it  seems  as  though  he  wills  them,  not  to  sink  and  deep- 
en, but  to  expand." 

"  But  they  do  not,"  said  Susan.  "  We  are  all  selfish." 
"  Not  all,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  I  know  that  many  will 
not  acknowledge  what  I  say,  and  when  they  find  themselves 
shut  out  from  what  they  have  accustomed  themselves  to  con- 
sider the  great  happiness  of  life,  they  allow  their  affections 
to  become  chilled,  and  exhaust  all  their  energies  upon  self, 
and  self-gratification.  But  I  can  never  believe  that  this  is 
a  necessary  consequence  of  their  lot.  Bather,  I  feel  that 
they  must  have  been  intended  to  fill  up  all  the  blanks  and 
hollows  which  are  left  between  the  circles  of  married  life ; 
to  spread  themselves  out  in  sympathy  with  griefs  and  cares 
which  can  find  no  echo  and  no  comfort  elsewhere.  That, 
my  darling,  I  can  imagine  to  be  your  work  on  earth.  God 
has  given  you  a  very  loving,  tender  nature,  and  a  truth  of 
character  which  naturally  inspires  confidence;  and  so  I  can 
fancy  you  going  through  life  like  one  of  those  clear  streams 
which  we  sometimes  see  winding  through  a  barren  country, 
its  course  tracked  by  the  bright  greenness  of  its  banks.  You 
were  born  to  be  a  blessing,  Susan.  And  if  God  wills  that 
you  should  learn  your  work  more  surely  by  the  experience 
of  suffering,  you  will  not  murmur." 

"  Mamma,  no  indeed ;  but  the  suffering  is  selfish ;  it  can 
do  no  good  to  any  but  myself,  and  I  have  borne  it  so  mis- 
erably." 


iv.  329 

"  All  suffering  is  selfish,  exeept  as  we  make  use  of  it  for 
others,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "But  even  our  past  sins  may 
he  turned  into  blessings,  if  we  will,  by  teaching  us  how  to 
guard  others  against  them.  Dear  child  !  you  know  very 
little  of  the  world,  but  if  God  should  spare  your  life,  I  can- 
not but  feel  certain  that  you  will,  by  and  by,  recognise  fully 
all  that  He  is  doing  for  you  now;  teaching  you  lessons  of 
tenderness,  opening  your  heart  to  understand  feelings,  which 
might  otherwise  have  been  judged  hardly.  If  even  our 
Blessed  Lard  Himself  vouchsafed  to  learn  sympathy  by  the 
experience  of  sorrow,  surely  we  may  be  thankful  to  do  the 
same." 

'■And  the  loneliness,"  said  Susan,  in  a  low  voice ;  and 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  were  kept  down  by  a  strong 
effort,  as  she  added,  "  Mamma,  that  is  so  wicked,  when  I 
have  you." 

"  My  love  will  not  satisfy  you,  my  darling.  I  would 
rather  you  should  face  the  truth  at  once,  unshrinkingly.  A 
void  has  been  created  in  our  hearts  which  only  one  kind  of 
earthly  love  can  entirely  fill.  God  has  willed  to  den}  you 
that," — and  Mrs.  Graham  passed  her  hand  fondly  over  Su- 
san's forehead,  and  stooped  to  kiss  her  jcolourless  cheek, — 
"but  He  has  not  willed  that  you  should  go  through  life  in 
loneliness.  There  i.-  another  love,  before  which  all  human 
affection  fades  into  nothingne 

"God's  love,"  said  Susan;  "I  though!  once  that  I  un- 
derstood it;  but  I  don't  now." 

"  You  do,  though  you  cannot  r<  alise  it.'' 

Susan  shook  her  head  mournfully,  aa  she  answered,  "1 
gave  myself  to  an  earthly  affection,  and  God  took  Hi-  love 
from  me." 

"No,  my  darling,  never.     God  allowed  you  f<>  feel  what. 
an  earthly  affection  might  be,  and  withdrew  it  that  you  tu 
give  your  heart- in  its  fuU  strength  to  Him.     Onlj  be  patient 
28 


330  irons. 

with  yourself,  and  the  blessing  will  come.  As  you  learn  to 
strengthen  and  quicken  your  feelings  by  living  in  the  hap- 
piness of  your  fellow  creatures,  the  weight  which  keeps  your 
heart  from  rising  to  God  will  be  removed,  and  then  you  will 
know  how  fully  that  deep  spirit  of  devotion  can  satisfy  every 
need." 

"  It  ought ;  it  would  with  others,"  said  Susan 

"  It  ought  with  all ;  but  it  does  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham, "  because  persons  make  it  second,  where  it  ought  to  be 
first.  God's  love  is  a  jealous  love.  He  will  give  us  only 
what  we  seek.  If  we  are  contented  with  our  earthly  ties, 
and  merely  think  of  Him  gratefully,  as  the  author  of  our 
enjoyment,  we  may  be  what  is  called  religious, — that  is,  we 
may  be  very  careful  in  all  our  duties,  we  may  be  excellent 
wives,  and  mothers,  and  children,  but  we  shall  never  know 
what  the  real  blessedness  of  religion  is.  That  is  the  danger 
of  married  life,  Susan,  where  it  is  perfectly  happy ;  it  may 
be — of  course  I  do  not  say  it  will  be — so  satisfying,  that  the 
feeling  given  to  God  is,  in  comparison,  cold.  If  it  is  not  so 
satisfying,  we  may  be  well  contented  to  do  without  it.  and 
take  in  its  stead  that  which  God  offers, — a  love  which  can 
never  change,  never  misunderstand,  which  waits  for  us  when 
our  hearts  are  chilled,  and  deepens  as  they  are  faint  and  sad; 
which  is  more  fond  than  the  love  of  a  husband,  more  watch- 
ful than  the  care  of  a  parent,  and  sympathised  with  us  before 
we  understood  the  affection  of  sisters  or  of  brothers ;  a  real, 
earnest,  living,  intense  love,  and  to  which  we  may  give,  not 
mere  duty,  or  reverence,  or  gratitude,  but  the  warm,  eager, 
absorbing  affection,  which  is  infinite  as  the  craving  of  our 
hearts,  and  lasting  as  the  blessedness  of  eternity." 

Mrs.  Graham  paused.  Susan  laid  her  hand  gently  on 
her  mother's,  and  said,  "  I  am  better  now,  mamma.  Will 
you  read  me  some  prayers  ?  " 

And  the  prayers  were  said ;  and  when  they  were  ended 


ivous.  331 

an  remained  quiet  for  a  little  time,  and  then  sent  for 
Isabella,  and  talked  to  her  of  her  new  home,  and  even  read 
.some  letters  from  Mr.  Berry;  aud  when  she  left  her,  heard 
her  say,  "There  is  no  one  so  dear  as  Susan;  she  throws 
herself  into  every  person's  business  exactly  as  if  it  were  her 


own." 


That  was  the  first  effort  and  the  first  reward. 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

Hours  pass  very  slowly  in  illness,  yet  they  passed  too  quickly 
for  Mrs.  Graham's  comfort.  Her  outward  attention  was  of- 
ten given  to  Isabella,  but  her  secret  thoughts  were  centred 
in  Susan.  Day  by  day,  as  she  marked  the  progress  made  in 
the  recovery  of  her  child'.-  bodily  health,  the  wreck  of  her 
happiness  became  more  visible.  Every  thing  was  an  effort ; 
all  duties  had  lost  their  interest.  Whilst  Susan  was  able  to 
keep  to  her  own  room  the  burden  had  been  comparatively 
light,  for  she  was  able  to  give  herself  resi  in  her  own  way  ; 
but  for  the  first  few  days  that  she  came  down  Btairs  again  and 
mixed  with  the  family,  the  perpetual  exertion  seemed  at 
times  more  than  she  could  bear.  Yet  she  kept  up  wonder- 
ful!)' upon  the  whole  ;  and  entered  at  once  into  all  that  was 
going  on,  and  made  little  plans  of  duty  or  of  pleasure  for 
other.-,  and  even  for  herself;  especially  showing  berself  watch- 
ful for  Isabella's  happiness,  and  giving  her  those  little  mat  I 
tender  sympathy  which  touch  the  heart  and  indue. •  it  to  open 
itself  freely  ;  and  Mrs.  Graham  could  not  hut  see  thai  tie- 
hours  of  weakness  which  Susan  spi  a1  on  her  sofa  were  likely 
to  work  more  for  [sabella'  good  than  many  years  of  previous 
training. 


y<32  ivors. 

But  Susan  never  spoke  of  herself  now.  In  the  first  agony 
of  a  great  grief  we  can  all  be  unreserved  ;  but  when  sorrow 
has  settled  itself  into  its  place,  and  made  for  itself  the  home 
in  our  memories  in  which  it  must  dwell  till  death,  we  can  no 
longer  bear  that  the  eye  of  a  fellow-creature  should  gaze 
upon  it. 

Susan  was  quite  changed ;  yet  it  was  not  a  change  which 
even  her  sisters  could  comment  upon.  She  had  a  kind  word, 
a  smile,  an  affectionate  thought  for  them  continually.  If  the 
interest  was  not  awakened  spontaneously,  it  was  at  least  so 
genuine  in  its  nature  that  none  had  cause  to  complain.  Only 
one  thing  was  remarked  by  Anna, — that  although  Helen's 
re-engagement  was  fully  known,  Susan  had  never  yet  ex- 
pressed any  curiosity  as  to  the  time  fixed  for  the  wedding, 
and  had  hitherto  shunned  the  idea  of  seeing  her  cousin ;  say- 
ing always  that  she  would  wait  till  she  felt  stronger;  tbat 
Helen  knew  her  so  well,  she  could  not  possibly  think  it  un- 
kind. 

But  the  effort  must  be  made  shortly ;  and  Mrs.  Graham 
knew  that  the  longer  it  was  delayed  the  more  trying  it  would 
be.  Besides,  events  were  hastening  on.  Lady  Augusta  was 
in  a  state  from  which  she  was  not  likely  to  rally,  but  in 
which  she  might  linger  long.  Helen  had  at  first  utterly  re- 
jected the  idea  of  leaving  her,  but  even  Sir  Henry  was  urgent 
that  there  should  be  no  delay.  Helen  could  be  little  or  no 
comfort  to  Lady  Augusta,  who  was  now  only  occasionally 
conscious  of  her  presence,  and  had  never  been  made  to  un- 
derstand the  fact  of  her  engagement ;  and  for  himself,  heavy- 
hearted  though  he  was,  yet  there  was  something  of  brightness 
and  hope  in  the  thought  of  Helen's  marriage  with  Claude  to 
which  he  clung  as  to  the  one  remaining  prospect  of  earthly 
interest.  He  might  be  alone  at  Ivors,  but  there  would  be 
Helmsley  to  look  to  for  change  and  society,  and  perhaps,  by 
and  by, — his  sanguine  spirit  wandered  into  the  future  with  a 


ivoks.  333 

strange  tenacity  of  happiness. — he  might  give  tip  Ivors  to 
Maurice,  who  was  very  likely  to  marry,  and  then  he  could  be 
with  Claude  and  Helen  in  his  old  age. 

And  so  Sir  Henry  put  aside  his  present  griefs  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  talked  to  Helen  of  her  wedding,  as  he  might 
have  done  in  the  brighter  days,  when  it  had  seemed  to  realise 
all  that  he  or  Lady  Augusta  could  desire  for  herself  or  for 
them. 

He  called  to  see  Mrs.  Graham  on  the  very  day  that 
everything-  was  settled.  It  was  quite  necessary  to  him  to 
talk  to  some  one;  and  Helen  and  Claude  were  gone  out  to- 
gether, and  Maurice,  who  vras  expected,  had  not  yet  arrived  ; 
and  so  he  made  it  a  matter  of  duty  to  go  himself  to  Wingfield, 
and  tell  his  sister-indaw  all  that  had  been  arranged,  and  ask 
for  her  advice.  He  had  a  scheme,  too,  in  his  head  which  he 
thought  admirable.  Helen  must  have  some  lady  with  her, 
and  no  one  could  be  so  proper  as  her  aunt;  and  it  was  Ids 
plan  that  Mrs.  Graham  should  remove  to  Ivors  several  days 
before  the  wedding,  that  she  might  superintend  everything 
and  be  a  comfort  to  Helen.  And  then  it  would  be  so  pi 
ant,  he  thought,  for  the  cousins  to  be  together.  Helen  and 
Susan  were  quite  like  sisters,  and  it  would  he  really  hard  for 
them  to  he  parted  at  the  last;  and  the  change  mighl  do  poor 
Susan  good.      He  had   not  seen  h  her  illness;    and  he 

fancied   she   was   suffering  from    over   exertion    and   an 
about   Lady  Augusta,  and    bo   ■  1    him    If   doubly 

bound    to  think   about  her  and  he  ear.  till  for  her. 

In    the    falness    of    his    heart,    Sir    Henry    proposed    his 
i ue  tO  1  sale -II a  and   Anna,  whom  he  Ion nd  Bitting  alone  in 

the  drawing-room,  I  dy  having  bet  o  given  up  to  gu 

••  W"here  is  your  mamma,  nay  dear?  I  [rave  a  grcal  deal 
to  talk  to  heraboUl  ;  ean't  she  ci  me  to  me?  we  are  going  to 
have  a  wedding  soori,  you  know,  at  [vors;  "'and  for  a  mo- 
ment   |  r   klenry'a   face  brightened,   ami    the 


334:  IVORS. 

sad  again  as  he  added,  "  It  is  not  what  it  might  have  been ; 
but  we  don't  allow  ourselves  to  complain.  God  knows  best 
how  these  things  should  be.  I  want  to  have  you  all  over 
there." 

"  Is  it  to  be  very  soon  ?  "  said  Isabella.  "  I  am  afraid 
Susan  will  not  be  strong  enough." 

"  Oh !  but  we  shall  make  her  strong.  The  change  will 
be  everything  to  her;  we  had  a  very  trying  time  the  last 
week  of  our  journey  !  I  have  never  quite  made  up  my  mind, 
whether  Markham  was  right  in  sending  us  abroad  ;  but  any 
how  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  that  now.  I  should  like  to  see 
Susan  very  much.     Is  she  in  the  study,  did  you  say  ?  ' 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Please  wait.  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Isabella,  rather  ner- 
vously, as  she  followed  him ;  but  his  hand  had  touched  the 
lock. 

"  Frances,  Susan ;  any  admittance  for  an  elderly  gentle- 
man?" 

Before  Mrs.  Graham  could  answer,  Susan's  voice  was 
heard,  saying  "  Uncle  Henry  !  yes,  please  come ;  "  and  the 
tone  was  so  bright  and  affectionate,  that  Sir  Henry  stepped 
forward  eagerly,  quite  forgetting  her  illness. 

He  was  reminded  of  it,  though  painfully.  At  the  first 
glance  he  started  back.  "  What,  Susan  !  You  never  told 
me,  Frances,  what  was  the  matter.  You  have  been  listening 
to  those  Wingfield  doctors,  who  are  only  fit  to  dose  horses." 
He  sat  down  by  Susan,  and  took  up  her  hand  and  examined 
it.  "  Bad  work  this,  my  poor  child  ;  but  it  must  not  go  on  ; 
you  must  have  a  change.  Frances,  you  must  bring  her  to 
Ivors;  and  we'll  have  Markham  down  to  see  her.  He's 
coming  next  week  to  Lady  Augusta." 

"  Thank  you,  very  much  ;  but  I  fancy  time  and  mamma 
will  be  the  best  doctors,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  trying  to  smile. 
"  Considerable  progress  has  been  made  the  last  week." 


ivoes.  335 

"  It  must  be  a  snail's  progress  backwards,  then,"  said 
Sir  Henry.  ';  Why,  the  poor  child  could  not  look  much 
worse  if  she  was  dying.  No,  no,  Frances  ;  you  must  take  her 
away  from  this  place.  Town  air  is  always  unwholesome,  and 
I  can't  get  the  commissioners  to  look  to  Wingfield  as  they 
might,  and  you  have  a  very  unhealthy  population  near  }'ou 
in  the  back  streets." 

"  I  dare  say  change  may  be  good,  by  and  by,"  said  .Mrs. 
Graham,  unwilling  to  chill  him  by  refusing  his  kindness. 

"  By  and  by  won't  suit  me  so  well  as  just  now,"  said  Sir 
Henry.  "  You  know  I  was  always  rather  given  to  selfish- 
ness, Frances ;  and  I  confess  that  when  I  cast  a  stone,  I  like 
to  kill  a  bird  for  myself,  as  well  as  my  neighbour.  Claude 
and  Helen,  you  know,  have  made  it  up  together,  and  arc  talk- 
ing of  beino;  married  in  another  three  weeks." 

"So  soon!"  Mrs.  Graham  glanced  at  Susan,  but  she 
lay  epiite  still,  with  her  gaze  riveted  on  one  spot  on  the  wall. 

"  It  seems  soon  ;  but  the  fact  is, — of  course  I  can  say  it 
all  out  to  you,  being  quite  sure  that  you  will  understand, — 
Poor  Lady  Augusta's  state  is  very  precarious.  Markhani 
says  things  may  go  on  as  they  are  for  another  year  ;  they 
may  all  come  to  an  end  in  a  few  months,  or  even  less.  Now 
Helen  was  very  uneasy,  and  talked  of  waiting,  and  in  fait 
would  have  insisted  upon  it,  if  I  would  have  allowed  it;  but 
I  felt  that,  under  the  circumstances,  delays  were  worse  than 
dangerous;  and  Claude  has  had  such  a  weary  lime,  and  be- 
haved really  so  nobly,  that  it  seemed  cruel  to  keep  him  longer 
hanging  between  heaven  and  earth.  So  1  overruled  all  her 
scruples,  and  put  forward  my  own  plan,  that  tin1  man 
shuuld  be  as  soon  as  possible,  and  quite  quiet,  jusl  your- 
selves, aid  thr  Buines,  and  Julia  Manners.  No  one  else, 
ex'i  pt,  perhaps,  some  •>!'  <  'laude's  cousins.  Then,  when  they 
are  marrii  d,  if  matters  should  take  an  uncomfortable  turn  at 
Ivor-.  Helen  "an  be  there  at  any  moment.     It  won'1  really 


336  ivoks. 

make  any  difference,  except  as  to  Claude's  happiness.     Poor 
fellow  !  he  is  desperately  in  love,  worse  now  than  ever  ;  and 
to  do  Helen  justice,  I  believe  she  is  nearly  as  bad.     Susan 
my  dear,  do  I  talk  too  fast  for  you  ?  " 

Susan  had  moved  her  head  away  from  the  light. 

"  She  has  not  yet  become  accustomed  to  visitors,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham  ;  but  Susan  turned  round  quickly,  and  touched 
her  uncle's  arm,  as  he  was  going  to  rise,  and  said,  "  I  should 
like  to  hear  all." 

"  All  is  not  much,"  continued  Sir  Henry,  reseating  him- 
self, with  evident  willingness ;  "  but  since  you  like  to  hear,  I 
will  just  tell  you  in  a  few  words  what  has  been  settled." 

"  They  must  be  very  few,  then,"  observed  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Indeed,  I  can  bear  it  quite  well,"  said  Susan,  whilst  her 
voice  assumed  a  peculiar  tone  of  firmness. 

"  I  won't  tire  you,  my  dear,  I  will  take  care.  They  talk 
of  being  married  on  the  sixteenth,  Wednesday  three  weeks  ; 
then  they  go  for  a  short  tour  in  Scotland.  It  is  rather  late 
in  the  year  for  the  north,  but  Claude  wants  to  visit  some  re- 
lations. Afterwards  they  are  to  settle  themselves  at  Helms- 
ley  ;  and  as  Claude  may  be  obliged  to  be  in  London  at  the 
end  of  the  year,  Helen  talks  of  coming  to  us  fo/  a  little  while. 
However,  I  don't  look  forward  ;  God  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen before  then.     All  I  think  of  is  the  present  moment." 

"  And  that  seems  tolerably  bright,  I  hope,"  said  Mrs. 
Graham,  moving  her  chair,  as  a  hint  that  he  should  go. 

"  Yes  ;  very  fairly  so.  As  much  so  as  we  have  a  right 
to  expect.  But  I  must  have  you  at  Ivors,  Frances  ;  I  can't 
get  on  without  you." 

"  I  would  be  there  for  the  day,  certainly;  but  you  see  I 
have  claims  at  home.  Isabella  means  to  follow  Helen's  ex- 
ample ;  and  there  is  my  poor  child  here." 

"  Ah  !  Isabella,  how  selfish  one  is !  I  quite  forgot  to  ask 
about  her." 


iyoes.  337 

"  It  is  a  very  quiet  matter-of-fact  affair  with  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Graham.  "  There  have  heen  very  few  difficulties.  She 
and  Mr.  Berry  have  known  each  other  a  long  time;  and  I 
believe  he  has  never  really  cared  for  any  one  else,  neither  has 
she,  and  so  they  have  made  a  very  comfortable  engagement  ; 
and  I  look  forward  thankfully  to  seeing  her  married  and 
settled  as  a  clergyman's  wife  at  East  Dudden.  They  won't 
be  rich,  but  they  will  have  a  competency,  and  I  am  quite 
■satisfied  with  him  as  Isabella's  husband,  though  he  wpuld 
not  have  sukcd  every  one." 

"  Not  you,  Susan,  I  suppose  that  means,"  said  Sir  Henry. 
"  I  always  thought  mamma  looked  upon  you  as  the  flower  of 
her  flock.  But  she  was  taught  to  do  that.  The  poor  old 
Admiral  !  what  a  pet  he  made  of  her,  Frances  !  " 

Susan's  lips  were  closely  compressed  together  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  then  the  aching  heart  could  bear  the  anguish  no 

j*  t.  and  she  cried  bitterly. 

Sir  Henry  was  very  much  distressed.  He  did  not  know 
what  he  had  done,  or  how.  He  could  only  kiss  her,  and  tell 
her  she  was  ill  and  wanted  change,  and  that  she  must  come  bo 
Ivors.  Claude  and  Helen  would  both  be  charmed  to 
her.  There  was  no  one  scarcely  whom  Claude  esteemed  as 
he  did  her.  He  had  said,  only  the  other  day,  that  he  felt 
mure  than  half  his  happiness  to  be  owing  to  her ;  she  had 
done  so  much  for  Helen.  "And  Eelen  is  perfection  now,  I 
must  say  that,"  added  Sir  Henry,  with  a  father's  pride. 
"  All  her  beauty  coming  back  ;  and  such  thought  for  i  i 
one.  Poor  Lady  Augusta!  That's  the  business!  [f  she 
could  but  understand  it  alL"  He  sighed  heavily;  and  the 
sigh  seemed  to  chase  away  the  tears  from  Susan'e  Eaci  .  and 
she  sai'l  gently  :  "  You  must  let  as  come  and  see  you  very 
often  when  Helen  i 

"My  poor  child!  yes,  of  course  j  bul   before  that . 


338  ivoks. 

Why,  Helen  has  reckoned  upon  you  as  one  of  the  brides- 
maids." 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Graham,  quickly,  and 
what  for  her  was  almost  angrily. 

Hut  Susan  put  her  hand  affectionately  within  that  of  her 
uncle,  and  said  :  "  If  I  am  not  quite  well  enough,  Isabella 
or  Anna  can  take  my  place.  Helen  won't  think  it  unkind  ; 
indeed,  she  must  not.     I  do  love  her  so  much." 

The  expression  of  her  face  was  so  pleading,  weary,  and 
haggard  ;  it  struck  some  deep  chord  of  feeling  in  Sir  Hen- 
ry's heart,  and  he  dashed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  stood 
up  hastily  and  murmured  :  "  To  be  sure ;  we  won't  worry 
you ;  we'll  talk  of  it  all  another  day.  You  must  get  strong, 
my  dear  child  ;  "  and  then  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  her, 
and  wrung  Mrs.  Graham's  hand  in  silence,  and  hurried  away. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Susan  looked  at  her 
mother's  anxious  face,  and  said  :  "  I  can  bear  all,  mamma  ; 
God  will  give  me  strength." 

And  from  that  moment  there  was  no  further  discussion 
about  the  visit  to  Ivors,  until  it  was  definitely  fixed  that  they 
should  go  there  for  two  days  preceding  the  marriage,  and 
that  Isabella  and  Anna  should  be  Helen's  bridesmaids. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

Brightly  and  hopefully  arose  the  sun  on  the  morning  of 
Helen    Clare's  wedding  day  ;  makiog  its  way  through  gath- 
ering clouds  into  the  clearness  of  the  pure  blue  sky.     It 
woke  many  hearts  to  gladness,  some  to  though*  and  prayer 
and  one  to  the  struggle  of  a  broken  heart. 

Mrs.  Graham  stood  by  Susp-n's  bedside  as  the  firs*,  brii 
liant  rays  streamed  through  the  half  clesfc1  shutteri 


ivors.  339 

"  My  child,  I  hoped  you  were  asleep  ;  there  is  no  occa- 
sion for  you  to  be  disturbed." 

"  I  have  been  awake  a  long  time,"  said  Susan.  "  Mam- 
ma, is  it  a  fine  day  ?  " 

She  sat  up  in  bed,  and  her  mother  drew  the  curtain  from 
before  the  window. 

"  Lovely  ;  so  it  promises." 

"  I  am  so  glad  ;  it  ought  to  be  lovely.  I  think  I  must 
get  up." 

>;  Why,  dearest  ?  You  will  only  tire  yourself,  and  you 
can  do  nothing." 

"  Xo,  nothing."  Susan's  head  sank  back  on  her  pillow 
for  an  instant,  but  she  raised  it  again.  "  Dear  mamma,  you 
promised  me  I  might  have  my  own  way  to-day  ;  I  don't  want 
to  be  wilful,  but  please  let  me  get  up." 

i:  Xot  to  go  to  Helen,  my  darling." 

"  Please,  please."  Susan's  voice  became  very  earnest. 
"  I  can  help  her,  and  I  ought  if  I  can.  Mamma,  let  me  do 
my  duty  to-day." 

"  Over-fatigue  is  no  duty,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Mother,  dearest,  don't  make  me  lie  here."  And  the 
tone  of  piteous  entreaty  overcame  Mrs.  Graham's  determi- 
nation, and  she  kissed  Susan  many  times,  and  then  left  her 
to  dress. 

When  next  they  met  it  was  in  Helen's  room,  in  the  midst 
of  confusion  and  bustle;  Annette  superintending  Helen's 
toilette,  chattering  and  ordering ;  servants  knocking  at  the 
door  continually  asking  for  directions;  Helen  herself,  pale, 
nervous,  trying  to  give  her  attention  to  what  was  passing, but 
with  thoughts  bewildered  witli   present  hap]  and  past 

sorrow,  and  self-distrust;  and  Susan,  standing  in  the  midst 
of  all,  sugge-ting  in  her  ijuiet,  gentle  tones,  holding  pins  for 
Annette,  whispering  fond  words  to  Helen,  yet  with  that  in 
wrought  expression  of  Buffering  which  is  occasionally  to  be 


34:0  iyoes. 

read  in  the  human  countenance,  even  when  the  anguish  itself 
has  passed,  and  which  shows  that  grief  has  been  petrified  by 
some  sudden  shock,  and  has  left  a  trace  which  time  can  never 
eradicate. 

"  Now,  Annette,  that  will  do,"  said  Helen,  as  the  wreath 
of  orano-e  flowers  was  fastened,  and  the  veil  thrown  over  her 
head.  She  glanced  at  herself  in  the  pier-glass  ;  the  beauty 
which  it  reflected  could  not  be  hidden  even  from  herself.  It 
seemed  as  if  for  an  instant  she  realised  it.  The  tall,  slight 
figure,  with  its  graceful  outline  set  off  by  the  rich  folds  of  the 
white  silk  dress,  and  the  exceeding  sweetness  of  the  fair  face, 
so  delicate  in  its  features,  so  clear  and  brilliant  in  its  com- 
plexion, and  shaded  by  the  braids  of  dark  hair  and  the  light 
veil  which  fell  around  it.  It  was  a  picture  which  none  could 
look  upon  unmoved,  and  Helen's  eye  rested  upon  the  lovely 
image,  and  a  look  of  calm  self-contentment  passed  over  her 
countenance ;  and  then,  as  some  sudden  thought  struck  her, 
she  turned  abruptly  away,  and  tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  she 
said,  very  quietly,  i;  Annette,  I  think  it  is  all  done  now.  I 
wish  to  be  alone.     Dear  Aunt  Fanny,  you  won't  care  ?  " 

'•  My  child,  no  ;  of  course  that  is  what  you  want.'' 

"  And  I  must  go  presently.  I  must  see  mamma,"  said 
Helen,  and  her  voice  seemed  choked. 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  round.  "  That  will  do,  Annette, 
thank  you ;  I  will  do  anything  else  for  Miss  Clare." 

Annette  unwillingly  left  the  room. 

"  One  word  only,  I  would  say,  clearest  Helen.  I  don't 
think  it  is  necessary  to  go  to  Lady  Augusta  now  ;  after- 
wards, before  you  go  away,  will  be  sufficient ;  it  will  only 
upset  you." 

"  I  must,"  said  Helen  ;  "  I  must  ask  her  forgiveness.  She 
won't  understand,  she  can't  give  it  me,  but  I  must  ask  it. 
Oh  !  Aunt  Fanny  !  " — and  her  eye  turned  again  to  the  glass, 
and  then  wandered  eagerly  round  the  luxurious  apartment — 


ivoes.  341 

"  why  did  God  bestow  so  muck  upon  me  only  that  I  might 
waate  it  ?  " 

Susau  it  was  who  answered,  with  her  thin  hands  clasped 
together,  and  her  figure  slightly  bent  forward,  whilst  her 
voice  came  from  the  very  depths  of  her  full  heart.  "  Helen, 
God  has  given  it  all  back  to  you  again,  that  you  might  make 
Claude  kappy." 

And  the  bright  smile  of  irrepressible  joy  lit  up  Helen's 
face  in  an  instant,  and  as  she  threw  her  arms  round  her 
cousin's  neck,  she  whispered,  "  Susau,  if  I  can  ever  do  that, 
I  shall  owe  it  all  to  you." 

Susan  went  to  her  own  little  sitting-room.  Helen  had 
prepared  it  for  her  on  the  day  she  came  to  Ivors.  It  was 
over  the  library,  and  looked  out  upon  the  flower-garden. 
She  sat  down  by  the  window,  unable  to  occupy  herself;  she 
ould  hear  a  great  deal  that  went  on  in  the  house  ;  Annette's 
voice,  especially,  told  what  progress  the  business  of  dressing 
the  bridesmaids  was  making,  and  which  of  the  few  guests 
who  were  to  be  present  had  arrived ;  and  once  she  came  in 
with  Isabella  and  Anna  in  their  wedding  attire,  purposely 
to  exhibit  them,  to  pronounce  the  pink  dress  and  white  bon- 
nets '' Charinant,  parl'ait  ! "  and  to  look  at  Susau  with  an 
eye  of  compassion,  and  perhaps  a  little  contempt,  as  she 
leaned  Lack  in  the  arm-chair  in  her  dark  silk  dress,  the  Cin- 
derella of  the  day.  Annette  had  never  hived  Susan.  There 
had  always  been  a  certain  suspicion  in  her  mind  of  rivalry 
with  Helen,  and  now,  when  the  thought  was  set  at  rest,  she 
had  something  of  malicious  pleasure  in  dwelling  upon  it. 

But  Susan  was  far  beyond  Annette's  power' of  teasing j 
he  was  out  of  the  reach  of  every  feeling,  indeed,  except  a 
sense  of  strong  support,  arising  from  the  tsalm  trustfulness  of 
spirit  which  lays  its  burden  upon  God.  She  did  not,  think 
herself  miserable ;  Bhe  did  doI  think  of  herself  at  all ;  butaa 
she  sat  alone,  she   repeated  to  herself  verses  of  the  1'  .aim  , 


342  ivoks. 

not  always  understanding  their  meaning,  and  sometimes 
being  quite  unable  to  fix  her  attention  upon  the  words,  but 
yet  being  soothed  and  strengthened  with  them. 

It  was  as  though  she  were  grasping  some  strong  Hand 
mechanically,  and  knew  that  if  she  let  it  go  for  an  instant 
she  must  fall 

So  an  hour  passed  by,  and  Mrs.  Graham,  who  had  been 
with  Susan  for  a  few  minutes  from  time  to  time,  came  in  to 
say  that  every  one  had  arrived,  and  they  were  now  only 
waiting  for  the  carriages  to  take  them  to  church. 

"  Helen  will  come  to  me  for  one  moment,  mamma,  won't 
she  ?  "  asked  Susan. 

"  If  she  can,  my  dearest,  and  if  it  is  wise.  And  Claude 
has  been  asking  for  you ;  he  wished  to  see  you  last  night 
when  he  first  arrived,  but  I  would  not  hear  of  it." 

Mrs.  Graham  hoped  that  her  voice  was  firm,  but  it  was 
not. 

"  Dearest  mamma,  I  am  so  thankful,  so  satisfied."     Su-X 
san  held  her  mother's  hand  fondly,  and  a  smile,  the  first  that 
had  been  seen  on  that  day,  passed  over  her  features. 

A  tear  was  in  Mrs.  Graham's  eye  ;  she  averted  her  face, 
and  looked  out  of  the  window.  Something  which  she  saw 
startled  her,  and  a  half  exclamation  was  uttered. 

Susan  looked  out  also.  Claude  was  below,  walking  in 
the  garden  by  himself.  She  said  nothing,  but  continued 
gazing  at  him. 

Mrs.  Graham  made  some  little  movement  to  withdraw 
her  attention,  but  Susan  did  not  notice  it,  her  eyes  were  in- 
tensely fixed. 

At  last  she  turned  round  again,  and  said  :  "  Mamma,  I 
have  prayed  for  him.  God  will  not  be  angry  with  me  for 
that."  She  took  her  prayer-book  from  the  table,  and  turned 
to  the  marriage  service. 

Mrs.   Graham  did  not  trust   herself  to  speak  for  some 


ivoks.  34 


*■*$ 


seconds.  At  fast  she  said  :  "  You  shall  see  Helen  before  the 
service,  my  darling,  and  Claude  afterwards." 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma,  thank  you,  that  will  be  the  best. 
I  shall  like  to  see  Helen  at  once." 

And  Helen  came,  hurried,  pale  with  agitation,  her  eves 
dark  with  the  tears  which  she  dared  not  allow  to  escape. 
She  had  been  in  Lady  Augusta's  room. 

"  Pray  for  me,  Susan,"  she  said.  "  Ask  that  my  sins 
may  not  be  visited  upon  me." 

"  Dear  Helen,  this  is  not  the  time  to  think  so  gloomily," 
replied  Susan,  gently. 

"  I  have  been  to  mamma,"  continued  Helen.  "  She 
knew  me — nothing  more,  I  could  not  make  her  understand." 
There  was  a  sorrowful  bitterness  in  her  tone ;  but  Susan 
looked  at  her  with  a  winning  expression  of  sympathy,  and 
Helen's  buoyant  spirits  rose,  whilst  the  cloud  passed  from 
her  face,  and  she  said,  glancing  at  the  prayer-book  in  Susan's 
lap  :  "  I  must  go  ;  you  will  think  of  us.  May  Claude  come 
now,  or  by  and  by  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause.  Susan's  answer  was  very  low  :  "  By 
and  by,  not  now." 

Helen  turned  to  her,  struck  by  something  in  the  accent; 
and  instantaneouslv,  as  if  the  truth  had  been  revealed  b\  a 
lightning  Hash,  her  woman's  instinct  read  the  truth,  which 
till  that  moment  her  own  happiness  had  hidden  from  her. 

She  threw  open  the  window,  and  gasped  for  breath.  Su- 
san caught  her  cousin's  hand,  and  Helen  tried  to  speak,  but 
her  voice  was  choked.  She  covered  her  face  for  an  instant, 
and  then  would  hare  moved  away.  At  the  same  momenta 
breath  of  air  turned    the  pages  of  the   prayer-book  lying  in 

an's  lap,  and  the  withered  rose  leaves,  gathered  in  the 
garden  of  the  Armenian  convent,  were  wafted  away. 

Helen  Btooped  to  gather  them  op,  but  Susan  shipped 
her.    "Let  them  go,  let  them  go,"  she  said ;   the  expression 


341  ivors. 

of  L-er  face  for  one  moment  was  agony,  the  next  it  Lad  re- 
covered its  deep  calmness. 

The  cousins  clasped  each  other  in  one  long,  silent  em- 
brace. The  door  closed  behind  Helen,  and  as  Mrs.  Graham 
would  have  replaced  the  rose  leaves  in  the  book,  Susan 
said  :  "  Not  again,  mamma.     I  wish  to  give  up  all." 

In  Ivors  church  Helen  Clare  knelt  before  God,  and  re- 
peated her  steadfast  vow,  to  love,  to  honour,  and  obey,  ac- 
cording to  His  appointment ;  and  in  her  lonely  chamber, 
Susan  Graham  knelt  also,  to  pray  for  Helen  that  the  vow 
might  be  kept,  and  for  herself,  that  she  might  Se  enabled  to 
offer  herself  a  "  reasonable,  holy,  and  lively  sacrifice "  to 
the  service  of  Him,  who  was  her  all  in  all. 

The  Eye  that  seeth  the  heart  was  doubtless  upon  both, 
and  both  in  His  sight  must  have  been  accepted. 

It  is  vain  to  argue  upon  the  abstract  question  of  compar- 
ative duty  and  self-sacrifice,  where  God's  Providence  is  man- 
ifestly visible.  He  it  is  who  educates  us  by  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  permits  us  to  be  placed.  If  with  a  pure  heart 
we  follow  the  guiding  of  His  Haud,  all  will  and  must  be 
well ;  whether  our  path  through  life  be  cheered  by  the  sun- 
shine of  a  satisfying  affection,  or  overshadowed  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  there  is  a  happiness  of  which  we  have  never 
tasted. 

It  is  but  a  path,  we  forget  that.  And  if  God  will  that 
it  should  be  the  path  of  sorrow,  there  will  be  one  unseen  to 
tread  it  with  us ;  and  who  does  not  feel  that  the  loneliness 
which  is  accepted  for  Christ's  sake,  that  moment  ceases  to  be 
loneliness,  and  is  but  the  realisation  of  the  deepest,  most  per- 
fect sympathy  ? 

Susan  knelt  still ;  she  was  not  praying,  but  listening. 
She  leaned  against  a  chair, — pale,  motionless, — her  eyes  riv- 
eted upon  the  sky,  her  fingers  clasped  together.  A  peal  of 
merry  bells  rang  upon  the  air  !  and  one  bitter  cry,  one 
agonised  burst  of  human  feeling  escaped  her;  and  the  crushed 


IVUKS.  34:0 

heart  offered  its   last  lingering  feelings  to  God,  and  Susan 
Graham  had  no  worse  pang  to  suffer. 

A  long  time  went  by.  Susan  sent  a  message  to  beg  that 
she  might  be  left  alone  till  the  breakfast  was  over. 

At  length  her  mother's  voice  was  heard ;  "  Susan,  my 
love,  may  Claude  and  Helen  say  good-bye-to  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Graham  opened  the  door,  and  showed  that  they 
were  close  behind  her.  Helen  came  in  leaning  upon  her 
husband's  arm.  Her  eyes  were  bright  and  full ;  a  hidden 
joy,  too  deep  for  words,  was  in  them;  and  Claude,  graver 
even  than  his  wont,  seemed  lingering  still  in  some  thoughts 
of  earnest  devotion,  as  though  giving  his  treasure  to  God's 
keeping,  from  the  feeling  that  it  was  too  unspeakably  precious 
fur  his  care.  Susan  rose  to  meet  them.  She  held  Claude's 
hand  as  she  kisged  Helen's  forehead,  and  her  smile  might 
have  been  the  smile  of  an  anjrel. 

Helen  trembled  violently  whilst  she  looked  at  her  cousin, 
as  though  silently  pleading  fur  forgiveness,  even  in  the  midst 
of  her  happiness. 

"  You  have  been  our  only  regret,"  began  Claude  ;  but 
he  ptopped  ;  something  seemed  to  arrest  his  words, — a  feel- 
ing almost  of  awe.  Susan  was  so  thin  and  changed,  she 
.-reined  to  him  standing  upon  the  verge  of  the  grave.  His 
voice  faltiTi id,  and  he  added,  "  I  did  not  know  you  had  been 
so  ill." 

Susan  reseated  herself,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

Mrs.  Graham  interposed  lightly,  and  spoke  of  indifferent 
matters;  but  the  tone  could  not  be  kept  up.  Only  Claude 
replied,  and  his  words  came  with  an  effort.  There  was  a 
Btruggle  between  present,  unutterable  joy,  and  the  sense  of 
some  unknown  evil. 

Ilehn  clung  to  hiii),  for  her  limbs  could  scarcely  support 
her.  At  length  Claude  roused  himself,  and  said,  gently, 
"We  are  more  than  friend.-,  we  are  cousins  now,  Susan." 


346  iyoks. 

Susan  paused — her  face  was  death-like.  Then  she  said, 
"  Yes,  friends  all  the  more,  because  we  are  cousins,  Claude." 

The  name  was  faintly  uttered,  but  Claude  heard  it,  and 
his  warm  feelings  were  set  free  as  from  a  spell,  and  he  seized 
her  hand  in  both  his,  and  poured  forth  all  the  hidden  grati- 
tude and  joy  which  he  felt  were  due  to  her.  Susan  listened 
like  a  marble  statue,  and  Helen's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  till 
Mrs.  Graham  interrupted  the  burst  of  feeling,  and  said, 
"  You  must  go."  There  was  another  pressure  of  the  hand, 
full  of  all  a  man's  cordial  veneration  and  affection,  and  he 
left  the  room.  Helen  turned  away  from  him  as  she  reached 
the  door,  rushing  back  for  one  more  instant,  and  whispered, 
"  Kiss  me  once  more,  kiss  me,  and  pray  God  to  bless  me." 

And  Susan  answered  cpiietly,  and  from  her  heart,  "  God 
bless  you,  dearest,  and  give  you  peace,  as  He  has  given  it 
to  me." 


CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 

Marriage  is  not  the  object  of  life, — only  one  amongst  many 
means  to  its  attainment.  That  may  seem  a  truism  ;  yet  we 
are  tempted  continually  to  forget  it. 

One  way  there  is  of  reminding  ourselves  of  it.  It  is  to 
accustom  ourselves  to  study  the  summer  of  life,  rather  than 
its  spring. 

Most  truly  has  it  been  said, — 

"  Sweet  is  the  infant's  waking  smile, 
And  sweet  the  old  man's  rest ; 
But  middle  age  by  no  fond  wilo. 
No  soothing  care  is  blest. 

''  Still  in  the  world's  hot,  restless  gleam, 
She  plies  her  weary  task  ; 
"While  vainly  for  some  pleasant  dream, 
Her  wandering  glances  ask." 


IYOKS. 


34T 


But  the  true  work  of  life  is  carried  on  in  this  dusty  and 
toilsome  time. 

The  careworn,  faded,  unexcitable,  uninteresting  occupants 
of  middle  age,  those  are  the  real  actors  in  the  great  drama 
of  life.  As  they  play  their  parts  well,  so  are  the  young  safe, 
and  the  old  happy ;  and  when  we  think  of  marriage,  it  is 
surely  wise  to  contemplate  it,  not  as  it  is  when  youth,  in  the 
first  flush  of  loveliness  and  enthusiasm,  sets  forth  upon  its 
flower-strewn  road ;  but  as  it  will  be  when  beauty  shall  have 
faded,  and  the  excitement  of  feeling  become  deadened,  and 
life  shall  be  seen,  not  as  the  vista  to  an  earthly  Paradise,  but 
the  dangerous  way,  along  which  man  is  to  pass  to  death  and 
judgment,  Heaven  or  Hell.  And  there  are  some  facts  which 
might,  if  freely  considered,  suffice  to  put  middle  age  in  a 
very  different  point  of  view  from  that  in  which  it  is  usually 
seen.  It  must,  if  there  is  anything  good  in  the  individual, 
tend  to  unselfishness,  especially  with  women.  The  young 
pirl  cares  for  herself,  her  own  prospects,  her  own  hopes  and 
fears.  Life  is  so  new  to  her,  so  engrossing,  that  it  is  only 
by  an  effort  that  she  can  throw  herself  into  the  minds  of 
others,  so  as  to  feel  real  sympathy.  But  a  mother  or  an 
aunt,  or  a  friend,  wearied  with  disappointment,  and  pressed 
down  by  care,  has  ceased  to  live  for  herself.  When  she 
joys,  it  is  because  those  she  loves  are  happy;  when  she 
grieves,  it  is  because  they  are  suffering.  Self,  indeed,  may 
and  does  lurk  under  the  holiest  affections,  but,  for  the  most 
part,  God  has  ordained  that  by  them  we  should  be  purified 
from  the  dross  of  the  world,  and  so  learn  to  live  out  of  our- 
selves, to  find  our  rest  at  last  with  Him. 

Neither  may  we  forget  that  the  most  prosaic  mind  has 
its  history,  the  calmest  heart  its  tale  of  sorrow.  "When  the 
complexion  becomes  dim,  and  the  brightness  of  the  eyes 
faded;  when  the  outline  of  the  features  is  sharpened,  and  sil- 
ver streaks  mingle  with   the  dark  hair,  we  say  it  is  the  work 


348  ivoks. 

of  time,  and  forget  that  each  line  which  has  marred  the 
beauty  of  the  outward  form  may  be  but  the  mark  of  the 
chisel  by  which  God  has  fitted  the  soul  for  Heaven. 

And  surely  there  is  no  period  of  life  more  inestimably 
precious.  If  angels  watch  the  struggle  of  middle  age,  it 
must  be  with  very  different  eyes  from  those  of  man.  The 
stiff,  unenthusiastic,  saddened  old  maid ;  the  nervous,  anx- 
ious mother,  must  be  to  them  objects  of  the  deepest,  tender- 
est  sympathy.  So  much  of  life  has  been  passed,  so  little  is 
still  to  come !  The  work  of  every  moment  must  appear  un- 
utterably important.  There  is  no  leisure  now  for  dreams; 
no  youthful  excitability  can  mislead  for  the  present ;  no  gild- 
ed hopes  can  beguile  for  the  future.  Life  has  been  met 
and  faced  in  its  true  colours,  and  now  it  is  to  be  closely 
grappled  with.  God  help  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  con- 
flict, for  truly  they  have  need  of  many  prayers. 

Helen  Egerton  and  Susan  Graham  sat  together  in  the 
morning-room  at  Helmsley.  Two  of  Helen's  children, — a 
boy  of  five,  and  a  little  girl  of  three, — were  playing  in  a 
bow-window,  with  some  to}7s  given  them  by  their  grand- 
papa, who  since  Lady  Augusta's  death  had  resided,  for  the 
most  part,  at  Helmsley  ;  and  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house 
were  sounds  of  a  piano,  which  told  of  the  school-room,  and 
the  governess,  who  was  superintending  the  education  of  two 
elder  girls ;  whilst  a  letter  from  a  young  Claude,  who  had 
just  begun  the  ordeal  of  the  world  at  a  public  school,  lay 
open  upon  the  table. 

The  romance  of  life  was  over ;  it  had  fallen  into  its  usual 
course.  Helen  was  the  useful,  happy  mother ;  Susan  the 
gentle,  kindly,  uniinpassioned  old  maid.  Hundreds  such  are 
to  be  met  with  in  the  world,  of  whom  it  would  be  said  : 
"  She  is  an  excellent  mother,  and  she  must  have  been  lovely 
when  she  was  young ;  or,  she.  is  a  very  nice  lady-like  person, 
but  so  quiet ;  one  wonders  what  her  life  can  have  been." 


irons.  349 

"  Shall  you  be  ready  to  go  out  with  your  father,  and 
with  me,  by  and  by  ?"  asked  Claude,  suddenly  opening  a 
door  which  led  from  his  own  study  to  his  wife's  room. 
Change  had  come  upon  him  also,  but  it  was  less  marked  than 
in  Helen.  He  had  never  been  young,  and  now  it  seemed 
that  it  would  take  much  to  make  him  old.  In  manner,  per- 
haps in  mind,  he  had  grown  younger.  There  was  an  exhila- 
ration as  well  as  energy  in  his  voice  ;  it  told  that  doubt,  and 
miscrivinor,  and  loneliness  were  at  an  end  ;  that  his  afTec- 
tions  were  at  rest;  and  it  was  with  something  almost  of  bo}^- 
ish  eagerness,  that  now,  instead  of  waiting  for  an  answer,  he 
came  forward  to  receive  it.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  glad 
of  the  excuse,  though  he  left  the  door  open  intending  to  re- 
turn, and  kept  a  pencil  and  paper  in  his  hand,  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  was  determined  to  continue  his  business. 
Helen  laughed,  and  warned  him  that  he  was  longing  to  play 
truant ;  and  he  came  and  sat  down  by  her  chair,  and  took  up 
a  book  which  he  had  been  reading  to  her  the  evening  before, 
and  turning  over  the  pages,  said  :  "  One  may  long,  but  I 
suppose  one  must  wait  till  holiday-time  comes.  These  sun- 
ny days  are  great  temptations."  Helen  turned  to  him  with 
the  fascinating  smile  of  her  childhood,  and  Claude's  face  be- 
came thoughtful,  as  some  recollection,  which  was  too  sacred 
for  words,  crossed  his  mind;  and  then  it  brightened  with 
unmixed  gladness,  as  he  answered  :  "  You  need  n't  be  afraid. 
I  am  not  going  to  be  tempted.  Susan  would  come  down 
upon  me  at  once  if  I  Merc." 

"  I  would  trust  you  to  yourself,"  said  Susan;  "you  are 
bo  wretched  if  your  conscience  is  not  thoroughly  satisfied." 

"  Yes,  I   must  go  back  again  to  work."     He  stood  up  di- 

!v.  "  But  we  will  have  our  drive  this  afternoon,  Helen, 
and  the  children  too.  I  shall  have  finished  by  that  time,  if 
magistrates'  business  does  not  keep  me." 

'•  And  if  parish  busi  ■      'Iocs  not  keep  me,"  said  Helen. 


350  iyors. 

"  And  you  will  think  of  me  on  my  journey  back  tc 
Wingfield,"  observed  Susan;  "  I  must  go  and  pack  now." 

"  I  should  fret  much  more  at  parting  with  you,"  said 
Helen,  "  if  I  did  not  know  how  many  will  rejoice  to  have 
you  at  home  again.  Change  is  necessary  for  you,  and  I 
don't  feel  as  if  I  could  get  on  in  the  world  without  an  occa- 
sional peep  at  you,  or  I  should  have  serious  qualms  of  con- 
science whenever  I  asked  you  to  come  to  us.  I  can't  think 
what  all  the  Wingfield  people  do  without  their  prime  minis- 
ter, and  head  nurse,  and  chief  governess." 

"  It  is  very  pleasant,"  said  Susan,  simply,  "  to  feel  no 
doubt  of  giving  pleasure  when  one  goes  home,  and  the  Wing- 
field people  are  very  kind.  Certainly  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  make  one  contented  in  this  troublesome  world.  But  then, 
with  my  dear  mother,  who  could  help  being  so  ?  " 

"  It  is  more  than  that,"  said  Helen.  "  Claude  and  I  of- 
ten say  to  each  other  that  if  we  can  only  see  our  children 
like  you,  we  shall  scarcely  desire  any  other  blessing  for 
them." 

"Scarcely,"  repeated  Claude;  "  not  entirely."  He 
looked  at  her  tenderly,  and  added,  "  We  are  very  happy." 

Helen  did  not  answer,  but  she  put  her  hand  within  that 
of  her  husband,  and  the  expression  of  trustful  fondness  in 
her  face  was  deeper  and  more  touching  far  than  the  first 
outburst  of  their  early  love. 

Claude  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  half  in  affection  and 
half  in  admiration.  His  inward  gaze  could  see  in  her  no 
change.  To  him  she  was  lovely  still,  as  on  the  day  when 
first  he  called  her  his,  save  that  the  hidden  beauty  of  the 
soul  was  exhibiting  itself  day  by  day  in  the  outward  form  ; 
and  the  deadened  complexion  and  the  sharpened  lines  of  the 
face  spoke  to  him  only  of  woman's  fervent  affection,  and  her 
untiring  spirit  of  self-sacrifice. 

Susan  looked  en  calmly.     Years  had  gone  by  since  the 


ivoks.  351 

sight  of  that  hallowed  love  could  produce  one  momentary 
pang;  and  now  she  said  earnestly,  "  When  God  gives  it,  it 
must  be  very  blessed ;  when  He  withholds  it,  He  can  make 
up  for  it,  fully,  entirely."  The  last  words  were  only  par- 
tially audible,  and  Susan's  hands  were  folded  together,  for 
they  were  followed  by  a  prayer. 

After  a  few  seconds  she  spoke  again  more  lightly.  "  I 
am  not,  perhaps,  a  judge  of  these  things,  I  have  so  many 
blessings.  People  think  me  lonely  because  my  sisters  and 
my  brother  are  all  married,  but  they  don't  know  the  inter- 
ests which  have  sprung  up  in  consequence,  and  Anna's  being 
settled  near  us  is  such  a  brightness  to  our  daily  life,  giving 
us  others  to  live  for  and  to  love.  Life  can  never  be  dreary 
when  one  knows  that  there  are  so  many  who  would  grieve  if 
one  were  taken  from  it." 

"  And  your  mother  ?  "  said  Claude,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  my  mother  ;  " — but  Susan's  countenance  slightly 
chano-cd  as  she  added,  "  I  often  think  how  she  has  been 
spared  to  help  me  through  so  large  a  portion  of  my  life;  and 
when  we  shall  be  parted,  she  has  taught  me  how  to  live  with- 
out her.     It  can  be  but  for  a  few  years." 

"  You  remember  that  more  constantly  than  we  do,"  said 
Claude,  gravely. 

"  I  suppose  we  have  all  some  special  difficulty  in  our  po- 
sition," said  Susan.  "  Perhaps  the  trial  of  single  life  may 
be  rightly  to  remember  earth,  and  that  of  married  life,  not 
to  forjret  heaven." 

"  And  different  training  may  be  required  for  different 
characters,  I  suppose,"  said  Helen.  She  hesitated  a  little, 
and  added,  a.s  though  touching  upon  some  doubtful,  forbid- 
den subject,  "I  could  not  have  lived  your  life,  Susan,  I  was 
not  strong  enough  for  it." 

"  Helen  needs  sunshine/'  said  Claude  ;  "  m  that,  Susan, 
she  is  xury  differenl  from  you."     lie  held  his  wife's  hand  in 


352  iyoks. 

his,  but  his  eye  rested  upon  Susan  with  the  gaze  of  reverent 
affection  and  trust  which  had  once  exercised  such  a  fatal  in- 
fluence over  her. 

Susan  paused  for  an  instant ;  then  a  smile  of  inward 
peace  brightened  her  sweet  calm  face ;  and,  as  she  gently 
laid  her  own  hand  upon  those  of  Claude  and  Helen,  she 
said  :  "  I  have  my  ideal  of  the  safest  happiness  in  this  world. 
Let  me  live  in  shade  and  look  upon  sunshine,  and  I  am  quite 
content." 


■I1  n  K      END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

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